Jamie shut the set off. It crackled as the screen went black.

He stretched and felt his belly pressing his waistband. He figured the Big Macs-for-lunch, pizza-for-dinner diet he’d been on lately was finally catching up. His head throbbed with the drumbeat of a marching band.

He happened to glance at the mail, dumped on the floor the other day. He hadn’t looked at it then. He now saw that the letter on top was from the family court. What now? he wondered sourly. He’d had a problem-wasn’t his fault-and had missed picking up his son last month. The ex’d made a big stink about it. Maybe she was trying to modify visitation. What a bitch. Or maybe it was something else. Was he late with the maintenance or the child-support check? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know what the hell she had to complain about, though, even if he was a little late. Christ, she got fifty-six percent of his salary. (Though that wasn’t exactly a gold mine; as a claims agent for a small insurance agency, Jamie made squat.)

He eased forward and cradled his aching head, crowned with an unruly fringe of thinning red hair, lost in his depression, the relentless troubles.The words that popped into his mind were “the bottom.”

That’s where I am. I’ve hit bottom…

And just like the night before, watching that TV sitcom, tears welled in his eyes.

Sitting here, in his shabby two-bedroom apartment, the graying walls decorated with stains and scuff marks, some of them dating back to when he moved in four years ago, Jamie couldn’t get that show out of his thoughts: the guy making amends for all the bad things in his past.

Then he began considering the offenses in his own life: fellow workers, his brother, ex-bosses, girlfriends, students at his community college, his ex-wife, his mother, even kids in his grade school.

Pettiness, cheating, insults, and-just like the hero of the TV show-even a few crimes.