He looked at himself in the mirror and began singing “Turn! Turn! Turn!” to himself. It took him a moment to realize it because he had one suit for dates, job interviews and funerals, and the last time he’d worn this suit had been for his great-aunt, who he didn’t know but Mom had dragged the family to the funeral. There had been a long section from Ecclesiastes and his Dad had elbowed him when he’d started murmuring “turn, turn, turn” every time his great-aunt’s pastor gulped for air.

Depressing.

He looked at the clock. About an hour until he had to call the cab company. Plan A had been to rent a car for the evening. But Golding at the Weekend Wrangler hadn’t paid him for that CD review he’d turned in four months ago.

He could work on the novel for forty minutes or play GTA .

He fired up the XBox and stole a car. A fast red one.