“Hey, stunod,” Gina interjected angrily. “Help the lady.”

But Fate, as he expressed it in the vernacular, was ferninst him.

Ed opened the drapes and the sun revealed the grim scene, the filthy drool-stained pillow on the couch where he'd been sleeping, the TV blaring some horrible shitcom ever since he'd left the dial turned to any old thing, the dog food bag left open in the kitchen so Harry could help himself.

Cross my palm with silver and I'll tell you your fortune, said the fortune-teller.