It's time for another cartoon:

Harry hasn't any job, but he has an interview lined up. He's afraid, what with the recent cut-backs by the incumbent governing bodies, that there will be no safety-net to catch him if he just says "fuck this" and decides to become a full-blown street-person for a while. He has caught a number of powerful waves of lethargy on numerous friends's couches over the recent months and saved up a bit of dosh for a closet-sized space in a cramped rooming house. Harry hopes to be able to start fresh, salt some cash away month by month, and become a regular, upstanding member of society.

Well, sort of. When he's being honest with himself, the only time he takes this sort of initiative is when he's this close to going under. For some reason the idea of desolation on all sides, with just happy Harry in the midst of it all, balancing there like a busker before the gaping jaws of the public, is more in line with his idea of living than being gainfully employed and plucked from the tree of bachelorhood too soon by the out-stretched hands of someone's biological clock.

Only a few minutes before he's out the door and selling himself to the manager of the pet-store chain at the corner of Ogden and Fitzwillard. He's pretty sure that's where he's going. Christ, better double-check on that, Harry m'lad. Good God, the next bus is in five! Harry squeezes a dab of toothpaste onto his tongue, grabs his hat and heads out the door.