ABSTRACT
MANY months later I awoke one morning with a start and automatically reached for my cigarettes. They were there on the table next to the bed, but when I picked up the package I discovered that it was empty. Then I remembered everything. There was no food in the house, not even coffee, and I was completely broke. I tried to go back to sleep, but knew before I closed my eyes that it would be impossible. If only I had some sleeping pills or whiskey. I would have taken anything to put off facing another day. I looked around—it never got really light in this basement apartment—and it was just as dirty and squalid as I remembered.
