On the two semi-reliable, specific sources of income that were mentioned, can recycling and giving blood:
> But since most of the collecting was done after midnight and is arduous, I tired of the relationship and severed it. If I ever care to return to scavenging, I am assured an extra $1248 a year-my 40 percent share of the gross.
> ...began selling two pints of my plasma a week-the limit-for $6 a pint. This source could add $624 to my annual income. But I found the 90-minute sessions, luring which time I was affixed to a needle, utterly boring, and I stopped.
(Never mind that he would have had to stop giving blood for other reasons.)
In at least those two instances, he says quit the job because it was hard work or boring. (If you're going to point out that these aren't "real" jobs, then neither is running a startup.) The author also mentioned that there were other ways he could supplement his income, but deigned not to.
He comes to the conclusion, at the end of the 3rd paragraph from the end, that he could "still pass... into the sort of life I once took for granted, when all the institutions of upper middle-class life in the suburbs meant something", but that it was futile, just a wait for death; unsatisfactory. The sham that punk rock holds up: drive to work to pay for the nice car; so you can drive the nice car to work; to pay for the nice car. More eloquently coached perhaps, but I get the same sort of ennui from it as in the last paragraph - he admits to wanting to live it, without wanting to work for it.