May 1995 (partial)

We count the money again. Not because we need to; we know what we have, down to the penny, and what bills we have to pay. $400 for the rent, $60 for the phone, $50 for the gas and $30 for the electric. That leaves us almost $600 for food, for music, for our own amusement. Our own amusement has narrowed down considerably since December.
“You ready?” I ask JP.
He walks to the door, chceking for the necessities. Money, housekeys, ID in case the cops stop him. “I miss that car,”he says.
“We’ll get another,” I promise. I have no idea how or where, but the past year has taught me how well things work out. We are charmed, JP and I; money comes to us unbidden when we need it, luck jumps into our laps like a well-loved old cat. In the meantime we’ll make do.
JP makes lists of his fears and sets fire to them in a ceramic bowl at night after I’ve gone to sleep. I found the ashes one morning and asked him what had happened; at first he was shy about telling me. I don’t know why; I already know almost everything that’s on the list.