"We have a small apartment above an off-track betting club. Itâs filled with angry losers and ripped up ticket stubs. The men all sit in plastic chairs or lean against the walls wondering if theyâll make it to the bar before last call. They wander home at three a.m. to fall into their beds and think about the lives theyâve lost, somewhere inside their heads." "Itâs late and youâre not here."