Chapter 2Hell hath no limits, nor is it circumscribed
In one self-place; for where we are is hell,
And where hell is, there must we ever be.
—Christopher Marlowe
There had once been an apartment in New York that was no bigger than a shoebox. It cost Alan thirty-five dollars a week, with an extra dollar tacked on for every day the rent was late. He also paid an extra five dollars every week for water and heat, and the crazy old broad who owned the building had no problem shutting off the heat if he was ever delinquent. More than once, Alan had been forced to choose between freezing for a week or starving. Of course, that was only a problem during the winter. In the summer, his tiny shoebox turned into an oven. He never had to worry about starving in the summer, but heatstroke had been a
