It was still early, so I took another look around and, sure enough, there was some dug-in grime around where my rickety sofa-bed used to be. I had spent the last 24 hours scrubbing, scraping, wiping and polishing the tiny apartment that used to be my home and although I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep or rest or even sit still for two seconds at a time, so I sprayed that grimy spot with some 409 and scoured it over and over until I found clean.

     Most of my stuff I had already put out on the street to let whoever take what they wanted and then I tossed the leavings to a trash bin. Not much. Mostly personal items and this and that. Things I had survived on, and maybe buried me, these past few years. But I did keep a few things . . . a couple pictures, some old letters, and my son's baseball mitt. It was well-worn but in good shape, even though it was the only one he ever used. I would be traveling light, taking just a few extra clothes, razor and such, and the thickest parka I could fit into my duffel bag. Oh, and a new black suit that I had packed in a separate bag. Also, I would be traveling with a friend.

     I hadn't known him long, maybe a few weeks. When I first saw him he was lying in an alley next to the bar down the street. His face was all bruised, his eyes were swollen, and blood was oozing out his mouth and nose. He was still breathing, but I couldn't tell if he was conscious, so I yelled, "Hey Chief . . . you OK?" He didn't answer, so I looked up and down both ends of the alley, didn't see anyone, and started to check his pockets for anything that I could score. They were empty on one side, so I rolled him over to check the other side when his hand came flying up and grabbed me by the throat. He was squeezing so hard, I thought he was going to break my neck, but then all of a sudden he just let go. I would have been scared shitless but it happened so fast all I could do was gag. Then everything got all bright as a spotlight lit the alleyway and two cops came toward me with their guns pulled.