Poverty and celibacy—great ways to cheer myself up after Lorraine, great ways to put myself back to square one. When Lorraine had found me I’d been out of cash. I hadn’t had a client since I’d arrived in New York or a meal in three days. She was my last chance and I’d have been an i***t not to take her case. Just like I’d be one not to take the case staring me in the face.
I replaced my coffee pot on my hot plate and sat back behind my desk. I sipped at its gritty, greasy, too-hot foulness with the same knowledge of my actions a Buddhist has when he strikes the match of his own immolation. And suddenly, the last month and a half made sense. I was scared. Scared and embarrassed. Maybe Lorraine had set everything up and used me for her own ends. So what, I asked myself. So bloody, f*****g w
