Amos was feeling depressed. The Deja vu, which he had once relished for the unusual feeling of understanding something he wasn't supposed to, was becoming more frequent. He was feeling it at least once or twice a day, usually while taking a risk and doing something his instincts told him was 'not in the time budget'. He didn't know if it was because he was gradually losing more and more friends, or if it was because the people he was hanging out with didn't really have a choice but to hang out with him too (family, co-workers, etc.)

Working at the airport was fun. Working Thursday, Friday and Saturday night felt like he was out on the town. The job wasn't that hard either, it felt like he was a bouncer or security guard so it gave him a reason to be 'at the club'. His co-workers he didn't really like since none were really available to him as a friend, and so any time spent with them was at his own expense. He tried to be nice, of course, and looked forward to seeing them if only because it gave him the position of their representative with respect to other people who would not normally have dealt with them.

The men reminded him of boxers. He had never really wanted to fight, and held no illusions about his physical prowess. But the looming financial crisis and his dislike of work scared him into fearing homelessness, just because he was too proud to plan for asking for help. And, he knew, the main sport of the homeless was boxing.