When I finally got my mental faculties back, I felt perplexed as to why I was in a hospital. It was as if they had wiped all of my memories of the past forty minutes clean. I had always been in the hospital, as far as I was concerned.
Why am I here, and how did I end up here?
I sat up and waited for what felt like hours, but was really five minutes until a doctor walked up to me with a clipboard in one hand and a cigarette in the other to ask me some questions. He lit up his cigarette with a steel lighter and crouched down near me.
His lungs are blacker than my soul.
“The good news, Mr. Newman, is that your teeth are fine and that you have only sustained minor injuries to your face that will heal within a matter of weeks. Was this your first seizure?” he asked as he prepared to writ
