I rented a room in Goleta near the airport, bought cheap liquor at a store down the road, and fully expected to die within the year. But then Keating drops by out of the blue and offers me work at a place called AudienceScience, which has a branch office in downtown Santa Barbara. Keating sat on the floor beside the mattress I had bought second-hand and dragged into the place when I first moved in. I had no other furniture. This was in the winter of 2009, when I was at my lowest.

"How long have you been out here?" I asked Keating. His visit had been a surprise.

"A couple of years, " he said. "Dennis told me where I could find you."

"I haven't talked to Dennis in I don't know how long, " I said.

"That's because he has no way to reach you, " Keating said. "You don't even have a phone anymore. But he still had your address. It took him a while to find it."

I pulled myself up into a sitting position, my back against the wall. "And now you want to put me to work, " I said.

"It's a good job, " Keating explained. "You'll even get to write if you want to."

"Who says I want to write anymore?" I said.

"Well, the work is easy, or at least it will be easy for you, " he said. "The company has a newsletter. It has several. One for each region. You don't have to write a word if you don't want to. You just had to edit the thing. I only mentioned the writing because it's an option, I believe, if you want to go there."

"They're not going to hire me, " I said.

"I told them about the work you did with The Fireside, " Keating told me. "One of managers there was a big fan of the thing. He read it growing up in Riverside. Trust me."

"I don't want to talk about The Fireside all day with some hotshot executive, " I said. "That's what going to happen."

"It'll be fine, " Keating said. "I told him how things went for you and I think he gets it. This is easy. It will all be easy."

Keating wasn't going to leave until I at least agreed to give it a shot. He told me to clean up and that he'd come get me in a couple of days. That's the sort of person Keating is. He had to come out of his way to get me in Goleta, but he didn't act as if it was any big deal whatsoever.

The interview went as smoothly as Keating predicted. The fan of The Fireside was a guy named Jacobs who looked to be about twenty-five. Keating obviously warned him about my reluctance to talk about the past, but he did make one comment. "I have to say that I never imagined I would be talking to you, " he said.

"Especially in a situation like this, I'm sure, " I said. "Me coming begging for work."

Jacobs laughed carefully at that. "Well, nobody's doing any begging in this room, " he said.

The work was easy, as well. Keating certainly didn't lie to me. AudienceScience put out one newsletter per region per month, with some stories appearing in every version. So I'd sometimes have to coordinate with the other editors. But I could keep to myself most of the time. And that's what I did.

That's what I did, at least, until Jacobs dropped by about a month after I'd started. He stepped towards my workstation cautiously, as if I was his boss. "Do you have a minute?" he then asked, as if I could refuse to speak with him.

"You'll have to find a chair, " I said, looking around.

"I have a meeting room booked, " he told me.

We went to the little meeting room in the corner near the exit to the parking lot. Jacobs was nervous the whole time, so I knew that this discussion was going to relate to my former life somehow. I imagined what I would do once that happened. I thought I might quit on the spot. Stand up and shake the man's hand and march out of the office, never to return. But that's not what happened.

Jacobs had obviously planned out his whole routine. We talked about my job for a little while, and he told me that he was hearing good things from the other editors. "I take an active interest in the newsletter, " he told me.

"I didn't know that, " I said.

"It's not really something that I'm supposed to do, " he said. "But I make the time."

"I suppose it's a good way to impress the customers, " I said. "Having our own newsletter, I mean. It makes us look like we're keeping tabs on everything."

"Sometimes they talk about putting everything online, " Jacobs said. "That would be a disaster. I think we ought to have something in print."

"I agree, " I said.

Jacobs paused and cleared his throat. "Now, as I mentioned when we first met, your reputation precedes you here. At least it does for me."

"Keating told me the same thing, " I said.

Jacbos couldn't even make eye contact with me at this point. "There's an idea I want to discuss with you, " he said. "I know that you're uncomfortable with this topic. But I decided I have to take a chance and talk about this with you."

I felt sorry for him, in a way, which was strange. He could have fired me in a second and filled me position within the week. So I had to see this thing through. "It's okay, " I said. "What do you want to say?"

"The Fireside was never the same after you left, " he said.

"I was forced out, " I said. "We both know it. You can say so."

"Well, the fact remains, " he said. "And the thing is that when I first started reading it, I wanted nothing more than to publish my own version of it. You know, I spent most of y time in college writing fiction. I breezed through my classes. I did what I needed to get the grades to get me a job at a place like this."

"So you're probably making a bundle now, " I said. "You can retire early. Get back to writing then."

"That's not going to work, " Jacobs said. "The Fireside was angry. When you wrote for it, it was angry."

"That's one way of putting it, " I said.

"I wake up every morning and find that I'm not as angry as I was the day before, " Jacobs said. "Does that make sense to you? I used to read The Fireside and understand. Now I look at some of the old issues I've kept and it's not making sense to me anymore."

"It wasn't Shakespeare, " I told him. "It appealed to young people, I suppose."

"It's not like that anymore, " Jacobs said.

"I don't read it, " I said. "I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise."

"It's all phony now, " he said. "It's nostalgia."

"I guess that makes sense, " I said.

Jacobs reached down and picked up a folder that he'd left on the floor. I guess he'd had it with him since he came to talk to me at my workstation. You know, you get used to people at the office carrying around binders and folders so you don't even notice it anymore. At any rate, he dropped the folder in front of him, and then slid it across towards me.

"I've still been writing, " Jacobs said. "The stuff I did in college is long gone. I don't know where it went. It was probably lousy, anyway."

"The stuff I wrote at that age was lousy too, " I told him. "You're better off without it."

"Like I said, things are changing fast, " he said. "I was promoted nearly a year ago, and I'm going to be promoted again soon. I might not be in Santa Barbara anymore. They might move me up to Seattle."

"Not a bad place to be, " I said.

"That's not the point, " Jacobs said, almost angrily. "Your coming here was a happy coincidence, I think. When Keating told me he knew you, I knew we could find a position for you here. It just so happened that our previous editor had left a few weeks earlier. Another happy coincidence."

"Things work out that way sometimes, " I said. "I do appreciate the work, though, you know. What you and Keating have done for me."

"There's just this one favour, " Keating said. He started to tap on the folder. "This is some of my most recent work. As I said, I've always wanted to do something like The Fireside myself."

"I'm not interested in a partnership, if that's what you're trying to hint at here, " I said.

"Of course not, " Jacobs said. "It's just your feedback that I'm looking for. That, more than anything else, will determine whether or not I go ahead with this."

I opened the folder and scanned the first printed page. There was a title printed along the top in capital letter. "THE RAMPAGE, " it read.

"I'm not so sure about this, " I said.

Jacobs could hardly contain himself at this point, he was so nervous. He was scratching the back of his neck with one hand and tapping the table with the other. "You can take your time, " he said. "This is important."

I scanned the first few lines of the story, and then I knew what to say. "It's fine, " I said. "I understand. I'll take a look."

Jacobs relaxed somewhat, folding his arms in front of him. "I'll be eager to hear what you have to say, " he said. "And of course I hope you keep this discussion between us."

"Not a problem, " I said. "You can count on me."

Jacbos smiled then, and shook my hand. "I'm glad I did this, " he said.

"Good to hear it, " I told him.

So I went home that night and read through Jacobs' first story. It was as bad as I'd suspected when I glanced at it earlier. I knew then that I couldn't go back to AudienceScience. I couldn't go up to my boss and tell him that his work was no good. There was no way.

I was relieved, though. As soon as I had first looked at the story during the meeting, a wave of relief had rushed over me. I had my excuse to leave. I didn't even bother to tell them I'd quit. I just never went back.

Jacobs thought he was still angry, but I don't think he ever was to begin with. I don't even think he knew what it meant to be angry.