When reckless yuppie schemes and manic social ambitions have reaped nothing but divorce, major debt, and serious self-loathing, it's time to go rogue. So, shred your credit cards. Grow a beard. Stop taking showers. Burn your bed. Leave cryptic goodbye voicemail messages for everyone you know. Drop a bogus blood trail. Then stuff all of your remaining valuables into a black leather bag and head straight for Daddy's Cash. Located on the corner of NE Second Avenue and 31st Street, this pawnshop is a squat red-and-blue bunker flying black bomb banners and an American flag. Just buzz at the door, nod toward the security guard, and go see the lady broker sitting behind bulletproof glass. You could shop for golf clubs, Korg keyboards, power tools, LG flat-screens, stereos, and a giant silver Jesus bust. But you've come to trade: a Rolex, cufflinks, matching his-and-her iPods, pearls, your ex-wife's five-carat diamond wedding ring, and several sheets of commemorative gold coins in exchange for that $4,000 Harley sitting ready at the curb, pointed due south.