904. I'm sitting here in my studio apartment in Sheepshead Bay. I have a cheap card table, a comfortable office chair, and a twin bed. I have a view of a parking lot. I listen to AM radio. My brother can't lend me any more money. Unemployed and maybe unemployable, I've applied for Social Security retirement. That, plus a small pension, might keep my head above water, while under water I'm twisting away from and kicking at the fish nibbling at my bare arms and legs. I can still take care of myself. But whenever I walk around my neighborhood among the gray‐haired and white‐haired seniors, I catch myself saying—I'm one of them! I try not to even look at the homeless people near the train station. If my high school girlfriend were to visit me today (how self‐assured we were!), her only thought would be, What happened to you? 6.7