His landlord stands in the hall explaining for the third time why he has changed the lock and Mac can get his clothes when he finally pays but he cannot live there anymore. Mac, largely mobile but slow and sore after the bicycle gangs, lies on the hall floor in protest. The landlord goes over it one more time, then returns to his apartment, giving Mac five minutes before he calls the police. Mac waits fifteen, then goes to his car.

There is nothing to do but drive around while there is gas in the tank. It is high, bright midday.