any murders during his time in Prince Rupert, but at least two prostitutes went missing along nearby Highway 16. This stretch of road is often referred to as the “Highway of Tears” for the doz- ens of aboriginal woman who have been murdered along the route over the last 50 years. Dwyer only lasted one cold winter in Canada, and in 1992 he took his savings and moved to Los Angeles. He rented a room in a squalid apart- ment off Hollywood Boulevard and found work as a dishwasher in a 24- hour diner. During the day, the customers were mostly tourists stopping in for a quick bite, but the evening clientele were the worst the city had to offer. Not sur- prisingly, Dwyer preferred working the night shift, and many of the pimps, johns, prostitutes, drug dealers and ad- dicts became the subjects of his poems. While most young writers in Los An- geles were typing the next blockbuster screenplay, Dwyer preferred his poetry. He studied the works of Charles Bukow- ski and may have met the poet among the city’s more dubious bars. He read the dark novels of William Gibson, Bret Easton Ellis and Frank Miller. Many suspect that it is here he devel- oped a fondness for the 18th century Graveyard Poets, known for their pon- tifications on death and dying. Their influences appear much later in his per- sonal poetry, following his use of their words as calling cards. In 1995, a waitress at the diner was murdered. Two weeks after her death, Dw- yer quit, telling coworkers he was de- pressed over his co-worker’s murder. That’s when Dwyer left Los Angeles and moved to Seattle, Washington. From his furniture store days in the Emerald City, he headed to Bakersfield, California, possibly with the mindset of returning to Los Angeles. In Bakersfield, Dwyer found work at a popular roadside produce stand. “He would only work for cash,” Omar Marado, owner of the stand, said. “He told me he had taken a vow of poverty and would only work for enough money to get him back on with his travels.” In March 1997, the mutilated body of a bartender was found in an orange grove. It was later discovered that she was a regular at the produce stand where Dwyer worked, and that her husband had recently been killed in a roadside bombing in Afghanistan. “She would always stop by the stand for fresh fruit,” her father told the me- dia in 1998 after Dwyer’s arrest. “She got sick of eating the greasy food at the bar where she worked.” Two days after the body was found, Dwyer stopped by the produce stand to pick up his pay. Marado remembers the last thing Dw- yer said to him. “My work here is done,” Dwyer had told his boss. “I’m off for an- other adventure.” E t T u M a g a z i n e 2 0 t h A n n i v e r s a r y F e a t u r e S t o r y