I'm sitting here in my studio apartment in Sheepshead Bay. I have a cheap card table, a comfortable office chair, and a twin bed. I have a view of a parking lot. I listen to AM radio. My brother can't lend me any more money. Unemployed and maybe unemployable, I've applied for Social Security retirement. That, plus a small pension, might keep my head above water, while under water I'm twisting away from and kicking at the fish nibbling at my bare arms and legs. I can still take care of myself. But whenever I walk around my neighborhood among the gray-haired and white-haired seniors, I catch myself saying—I�m one of them! I try not to even look at the homeless people near the train station. If my high school girlfriend were to visit me today (how self-assured we were!), her only thought would be, What happened to you?