I returned to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets looking for something I could eat without giving myself away, a growl coming from my gut. From my days of cutting weight during wrestling, I’d always been very susceptible to hunger, and my hands were quick to shake, which they were doing now. I ate three Oreos, a granola bar, a handful of Cheerios, and a cold spoonful of leftover turkey and stuffing from Jeff ’s Thanksgiving back home. I took great care to cover my tracks, that everything was as I had found it. The last thing I needed was for Jeff to know I was eating his food. I felt hungry all the time and was getting sick of it and still four days away from getting paid. I’m not sure what else I had expected by paying Gene almost everything I had while leaving myself with eleven dollars for six days. Not the rashest decision I’d ever made, but pretty damn close. If I could just hold on until Friday, then everything would be all right. How in the hell could I hold on until Friday when I had nothing?

3

The next morning, Tuesday, I woke to Jeff ’s heavy footsteps in the hallway. I rolled over, looked at the clock. It was seven ten. I’d been so preoccupied with hunger that I’d forgotten to set the alarm. In twenty minutes I’d be late for the schedule I had set for myself. I still had to shower, dress, catch the train, a process that, at its minimum, took an hour and fifteen minutes. I decided to take my time.

I jumped in the shower while Jeff made breakfast and coffee. Fifteen minutes later, we passed silently in the hall. He walked through his bedroom into his own bathroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him while keeping the bedroom door open.

I slipped on underwear, socks, the same pair of khaki slacks I’d worn the day before. His shower started. I pulled on a white T-shirt and looped a belt through the pants, then walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway. My stomach groaned, and though I had the four slices of bread for the day’s provisions, I knew they wouldn’t be enough. I was desperate, so wracked with anxiety that I had hardly slept at all during the night. My eyeballs ached; my hands were jittery. I needed help, no other way around it.

I stuck my head in Jeff ’s bedroom and listened. The sound of water falling inconsistently, a bar of soap clattering against the tub. On the bedside table across the room sat his wallet, watch, loose change, cell phone attached to its cord. I stared back at the bathroom door. Then I took a deep breath and rushed across the room and lifted his wallet.