Ethan's life went downhill after he was fired.
Ryan called me from time to time with updates. He never dared to say what he wanted outright. He would talk around the subject until I shut him down. Even so, I could guess what he was getting at without hearing every detail.
Ethan rented a 108-square-foot room in a run-down neighborhood on the west side. There was no air conditioning, and the bathroom was shared. Every day he took the bus to a freight company and worked as a freight handler, doing the hardest work for the least money. The friends who used to crowd around him gradually disappeared. Ryan still visited sometimes, bringing food and sitting with him for a while before leaving.
"Claire," Ryan said to me once, "Ethan is now..."
"Ryan." I cut him off. "Why are you telling me this
