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yet. To stall for time I started taking sip after sip of
    my drink, giving myself time to think. Drake sat back
    with his own scotch and left me alone.
    Fact one: I hated my current lifestyle and earlier had
    been fully prepared and more than willing to kill my
    self to escape it.
    Fact two: I didn't want to lose my right arm. Self-
    explanatory, what can I say? After thirty-nine years, I was
    rather attached to my limb—literally and figuratively.
    Fact three: I believed every thing -Drake was telling
    me. I might be a fool,but that was my gut feeling.
    Fact four: I badly wanted the money. It was absurd,
    but the four hundred in my pocket was already starting
    to feel like the chump change Drake described it as.
    Even if Arlene never loved me again, I could still set the
    both of us up for life.
    I sat sipping my scotch, going over and over these
    points, trying my best to sort everything out. Maybe I
    should just flip a coin? Christ, I was confused. It was
    almost inconceivable that I was considering this ridicu
    lous offer. I couldn't let someone cut off my arm, could
    I? No, when it came right down to it, probably not-
    That's right, Mike, now you're thinking straight. I know
    the money's te?npting, but just forget it. You've got the four
    hundred, enjoy it, but get out of this car, and don't look back.
    Stick to plan A.
    Almost as if the limo driver had a direct link to my
    brain and could hear my thoughts, the car suddenly
    pulled to a stop. I looked out the window and was mildly
    surprised to see we were back to where we'd started.
    From my comfortable soft leather seat, I could easily
    see our rusty Dumpster beneath the Carver Street Rail
    way Bridge and Puckman sitting outside of it still sav
    agely biting red juicy chunks out of his disgusting
    supper.
    I was free to make my escape, just open the door and
    walk away. Why wasn't I halfway out the door, then?
    After all, I'd already made up my mind, right? I couldn't
    go through with it, right? I took one more look at the
    life of poverty and humiliation waiting for me outside
    the window. Made up my mind? Yeah, I guess I had.
    "Sign me up, Drake," I said. -I'm in."

CHAPTER SIX
    Feeling like a dorky little kid waiting impatiently for
    the school bus, I stood on the side of Carver Street
    bundled up in my blue bomber jacket with my ratty
    suitcase in my hand, ready for Drake to come pick me
    up in the white limb. He'd told me to be ready by 7:30
    A.M. but I don't own a watch, so I'd been standing here
    since just after sunrise to be sure I didn't miss my ride.
    The last three days had swept past in a blur. It's
    funny, I never noticed before how time slowed down to
    a crawl, becoming basically irrelevant when you're a
    homeless man. When there's absolutely no schedule to
    follow, no job to go to, no calls to make, no mail to open,
    no bills to pay, no appointments to keep, and no family
    to interact with, what did it matter what time it was?
    Or what day of the week, month, or year it was, for
    that matter? Every minute of every day was the same
    old static waste of life. Ever since agreeing to Drake's
    bizarre offer, though, time, or perhaps the lack of it,
    had suddenly become important to me again.
    I couldn't stop thinking about my right arm, and how
    soon it would be gone. Every time I used that arm to
    pick something up, or drink a glass of water, or scratch
    my ass, I'd be thinking, Hey, you're not gonna be able to do
    this anymore, Mike. Never, ever, again.
    I tried to stop thinking about it, but it was next to im
    possible. What about shoes? You're not going to be able to wear
    shoes with laces anymore because you won't be able to tie them
    by yourself The list of things I'd never be able to do
    again was-endless. How was I going to manage?
    Fortunately, two million dollars has a heck of a way
    of making a guy feel optimistic about almost anything
    and deep down I believed I'd get used to whatever hard
    ships lay ahead. I'd still have my good arm—my