Jamie Feldon woke up one cool Monday morning in April and decided to change his life.

The night before, he’d fallen asleep on the couch, thinking about a sitcom he’d just watched. It was great, really kick-ass. Most TV comedies were just plain stupid: twenty-five-year-olds tossing out one-liners, then mugging for the camera while the Laugh sign goosed the audience to make noise.

No, this show was different. The hero was a guy who’d had an Oh-Jesus moment or something and was making amends for everything bad that he’d done in his life. Each episode, he’d track down somebody he’d screwed over or hurt and apologize and make it up to them.

Pretty damn sharp.

Jamie’d lain on the couch, mesmerized by the show, laughing and once or twice even crying, which was something he never did.

You can believe it, real tears.

He’d thought about that show for hours until, still dressed, he’d fallen asleep.

Now, at seven-thirty A.M., the forty-two-year-old rolled over and rubbed his face, feeling the creases left by the corduroy slipcover. He squinted hard and studied what sat beside him on the coffee table: half a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon, an overflowing ashtray, and a bag of popcorn with a bunch of unpopped old maids inside; the micro-wave was on its way out.

Swinging his feet to the floor, Jamie pulled the remote control out from under him, the smell of sweat and unwashed clothes wafting around him. He wrinkled his nose, then wiped it on the sleeve of his pale-blue dress shirt. The TV set was still on but quiet; he’d hit the mute button in his sleep. On the screen, an early morning talk-show host was silently moving his lips. He seemed real sincere. A picture flashed on-two Asian kids holding bowls of rice. They were happy. Back to the host. He now looked happy too.