oe had no trouble changing his flight.

"Fun day," he said as they parted in Honolulu.

"Bye, Joe." She smiled.

"I'll call you."

She lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Thanks for the warmth and
commitment, he thought.

He had given up chasing women some time after Sally and before Ingrid.
A kind woman had taken him in hand after a heartbreak and explained:
"Joe, you can't earn love. Love is free. Someone loves you or they
don't . . . God knows why." She had been so sad and so earnest that he
knew it was true. Shortly thereafter a flashbulb went off. If you can't
earn love, then, if someone doesn't love you, there's nothing you can
do about it. What a liberation!

He wasn't going to run after Mo. A relationship might be around the
corner. Or not. He wasn't all that sure he wanted one, anyway. He'd
call her in a couple of weeks.

7

Joe was going to run out of money--in less than a year. He began
reading the Sunday classifieds, an experience that made him sweat and
put a knot in his stomach.

On a Monday, two weeks after the trip to Kauai, he followed up an ad
for a programming job at a downtown insurance company. The offices were
bright and modern; the staff was energetic. He left depressed. He could
have done the work in his sleep, but he couldn't pretend to want to be
"on board." The woman who interviewed him was too decent; Joe couldn't
bring himself to try and con her. He knew that if he were hired, six to
twelve months later he would be out on the street again, unable to keep
his head down and his mouth shut.

The next morning as he was taking a shower, replaying the scene at the
insurance company, he bent over for the soap. Something split in his
back. It was like being hit by an ax. He managed to get out of the
bathroom and lower himself to the floor. He lay still for half an hour,
getting his breath.

On his side, drawing his knees up, he pushed himself along the floor a
few inches at a time. He made it to his mattress and slid under the
comforter. Changing positions was painful, he could sleep for only a
few minutes at a time.

By evening he was too thirsty to stay where he was. He pushed himself
to the front of the kitchen sink and got to his knees, gasping. Holding
on with one hand, he reached for his mug with the other and filled it
with water. He drank and then refilled it and placed it on the floor.
He opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out an old pie plate.
He lowered him