I'm sitting alone in my apartment, nursing a beer, puffing a cigarette. The room is empty. Well, except for this packing box. Three thumps on the door. I slowly turn my head, "who is it?" No answer. Thump, thump, thump. I go answer the door. Landlady. She waves her hand in front of her face in disgust. "Two things poor people always have: beer and cigarettes." I take a puff. "I need you out. Now. So go." A take a long, slow drag, contemplate exhaling in her face, breathe out my nose. Reach down behind the door and think for a second: I wish I had a gun. But no, it's just my pack. I'm on the road again.