 Why might the narrator feel that he is "so dirty, so very dirty that I could never get clean if I bathed every hour for the rest of my life"?
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or going—but I know that if I stuck to the old man, I was a comer ... even if he was a goner! The golden Moon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. I came alongside and carefully started to lever the old man loose, one finger at a time. If a half dozen winos in Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have been wanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. All my great-grandfathers have it. I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse three doors down. It had happened a few times right after I first found him, but now it was worse. I tried not to think about it and helped Doc through the fly-specked flophouse doors. You don't have any quarter, not if I say so. My shaggy scalp still smarted from the alcohol I had stolen from a convertible's gas tank to get rid of Doc's and my cooties. Lucky that I never needed to shave and that my face was so dirty, no one would even notice that I didn't need to. I was bent double, but I got from the floor to the chair and found my notebook and orb-point in my hands. They told everything I needed to know to become the most powerful man in the Solar Federation.
 Because he unknowingly feels debasement in desiring something material.
 Because he is homeless and unclean.  Because he has cooties.  Because his addiction prevents him from bathing.  Because he unknowingly feels debasement in desiring something material.