“We got an offer from a British company yesterday,” Motty said. He explained that given their lack of good faith in the negotiations, we had decided to go with the Brits.

“What company? Good Life? Live Happy?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to disclose that information, but I certainly thank you for your time,” Motty said, and I added that we really were grateful. Motty’s smartphone rang. He glanced at the screen and apologized, saying he had to take the call.

“No problem, we’re coming over to sign,” he spoke into the receiver. “Sure, the New York Times can write about the smart drug. But they need to make it clear that it’s an entirely new kind of drug, something that’s never been seen before.”

“What smart drug?” the Frenchman asked me in an anxious whisper.

“I’m sorry but I honestly can’t talk about it,” I said, shook his hand and followed Motty to the car.

Two hours later, the Frenchman called with an official offer. Forty-five million. Motty nearly closed on the spot, but I told him to wait a day and demand another million. He nodded, unable to hide his smile.

“What will you do when they ask about the smart drugs?” I inquired, and Motty said it wasn’t a problem—he’d ask the Meaning of Life Ltd. to send him a biotechie who could whip some up. I told him I wasn’t sure it was that simple, but Motty just waved his hand dismissively.

“You did your job like an ace, and that’s all that matters,” he said and slapped me on the back; then he talked me into going to a bar for a celebratory drink.

5.

I FINISHED MY first search day at four in the morning, a little drunk from my first champagne. Ten minutes later, as I was brushing my teeth, I heard a knock on the door. For a moment I thought maybe I had forgotten something in the taxi, but when I opened the door I found a guy in a green jumpsuit glaring at me.

“What’s the deal, Eyal? We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.”

“My parents are sleeping, could you come back some other time?”

“There is no other time, trust me.”

Reluctantly, I followed him downstairs. The rattle of the engine coming from below was my first hint. A big garbage truck was standing at the entrance to the building. “Oh god,” I muttered.

The guy hopped onto the back of the truck and waved me over.

At first I thought I’d hate every minute of it, but in truth, it wasn’t too bad. There was something nice about experiencing the world before it woke up. Hanging out on the streets and not being stuck inside some office. Not that dealing with dumpsters was especially enjoyable, but it wasn’t as bad as I had expected it to be.