I think I would enjoy Casablanca if not for the fact that I am held prisoner in this f*****g wheelchair.
I need to get out of here, and the only person who can help me is Old Timer. I just need to find something I can bribe him with.
Fragments of my memory are returning piece by piece. It’s so surreal to relearn what you were like, to relive what you once lived. There are still black holes I cannot remember, like who the f**k did this to me?
I know it’s a woman, however.
I just don’t know who.
Or why.
Misha and Dutch, I remember. I may not recall every detail, but I remember I loved them deeply. And that’s all I need to know.
Subtly peering around the theater, I look for a way out. There’s a memory scratching at the surface, but I can’t remember what it is.
Frustrated, I slump into
