I’m a naked consciousness, but with senses, floating again—just like that time in the morgue.
There’s a smell of antiseptic in the air, and medical equipment is clustered around a nearby hospital bed.
An emaciated bald woman in her forties reclines in the bed, and according to the wristband on her thin wrist, her name is Amie Descanso. The bottom of the wristband reads “Room 4128, Maimonides Hospital”—which means that not only did I lose my body, I also somehow ended up in Brooklyn.
I guess it could’ve been worse. I could’ve lost my senses completely and ended up in Queens.
Attempting to look around, I find that I can—which is odd given that I don’t possess a neck to turn my head, or a head with eyes for that matter.
The TV is showing the news, but I only pay attention to the date and
