And even more calls came from debt collectors, three or four of them. They asked if I knew what I owed or they told me what I owed, more, often much more, than I thought…I sometimes wondered why I even answered the phone, but I guess I always had the hope that it would be someone else, some other way of life calling for me. One of the collectors spoke so fast that when I listened to him, the back of my head seemed to emanate heat through my hair, and another spoke so slow and softly I felt I was sinking or drowning, that the air had become thicker around me and would take me down if I kept breathing...It felt possible—though I know this is absurd—that the use of my own body, the only thing I really owned, had somehow been repossessed.

love him!