My body ached all over. The cool breeze that swept around me that pierced my skin and made it painful to move. I don't want to move. I don't even think I can move. My ear pressed against the dirt covered floor, I could hear a television and a woman laughing. My head throbbed as every beat of my heart thumped inside of me. I winched as I opened my eyes to the sunlight that poured in from the afternoon sun. Or was it still morning? Finally, with what little strength I had I managed to push myself up on my elbows. As I rubbed my eyes, I could feel that my hands were wet, slimy, and there was a familiar odor. I sniffed the putrid smell on my finger-tips and gagged from the smell of vomit. My vomit no doubt. I put my hand down and felt the coldness of what was a bottle. Grabbing it and putting it to my parched lips and tilting it back only to find it empty. Not even a drop. I tossed to glass across the room and heard it crash against what sounded to be more glass. Where was I? I thought. How did I get here?.....And what happened? I pulled myself up on the couch as best as I could, but had a bit of a struggle in doing so. As my vision started to focus more I looked about at my surroundings. The place was seedy and dilapidated. The air was dusty, along with all the belongings and furniture in the apartment. And it had the smell of liquor and stale food lingering. I staggered trying to stand and walk to the kitchen. I looked down at where I threw the bottle and found that it had landed in a mound of broken glass. Bumping in to walls and a lamp I finally made into the small cramped and cluttered kitchen. Dishes were pilled up in the sink and spilling out onto the counter-top. Flies buzzed about in a frenzy as I tried shooing them away from mold-covered bowls and plates. There was one note on the refrigerator. It looked recent, because it was the only thing in the place that didn't have a stain. It read, "Call me, 555-3039"..no name, that was it. I took it and stuck it in my pocket and felt something inside. and pulled out a twenty dollar bill and put it back in my pocket. I thought for a moment about the phone number , mind racing. Blank. I felt around in my other pockets for an ID. Nothing.. I couldn't even remember where I was.. I looked for a phone, but there wasn't one to be found. I felt a chill run up my spin and rubbed my arms and felt goosebumps spring up. I had no shirt on. I walked back into the tiny room from which I woke up in, that consisted of a tapered looking couch, a table and a chair. I scanned the room for a shirt and found a white t-shirt, and put it on. It fit. It must have been mine. I walked into the bathroom and turned the light on. The bathroom was the worse place in this dump. It looked like it hadn't been clean in months. I didn't bother opening the shower curtain to see what was inside. The vanity mirror, however, was cracked. What little glass was left I saw that I had a massive bump on my head, with dried blood crusted from it's gash. I found a towel, dirty, I rinsed it off in the sink and compressed it to my nodule. Ouch! I couldn't figure how it got there. I had to leave this place. But where was I to go? I hadn't a clue if when I stepped outside that I would even recognize where I was. I opened the apartment door. There was a number 9 on the outside of the door. Still feeling a bit tipsy, I walked down a long dark, and dingy hallway. Some of the numbers on the doors were falling off or missing. As seedy at the place was, so were the tenants. A man hanging out in the hall glared at me as I approached him. He was smoking a cigar and as I walked passed blew smoke directly into my face and chuckled as I coughed on the inhalation. A reached a stairwell and was approached by an older woman who had a scowl on her face and walked passed me as if I did not exist. Finally at the bottom of the stairwell and the entrance to the building I was revealed to step outside to see where I was. However, nothing looked familiar. What was going on? I stopped a man walking by and asked him what time it was and where was I at. At first he looked at me crazy and then down at his watch. 2:13. Then I asked him if he knew where Rounders was. He nodded and told me it was down the street, a couple blocks away. I thanked him and started heading into the direction he had told me. The whole way I tried everything in my power to remember anything at all. I could remember my name. Daniel Walker. This was good. But crazy. This bump on my head could be the cause of all of this memory loss. That was it, I thought, hoping I was right. I got to Rounders, a pub. I walked in and looked around. It was small, a typical local bar. At the bar were a couple patrons, both not speaking. One was staring tiredly at his glass in a trance. The other was picking out nuts in one of the bowls set out on the counter. The bartender turned and looked at me as I walked in. "Hello", I greeted him, walking up and having a seat at the bar next to the man still staring at his glass. "Hey, you're the guy from last night," he said. "Uh, yeah," I responded hesitantly. "You don't look so good," he said examining the large bump on my head. "He sure did you a number." "Who?" I asked intently. "The guy you were with," he answered. "Richie." "Richie?" "Well, you weren't with him. You didn't come in together. But you were both having a conversation pretty much the whole night," the bartender explained. "Then all of a sudden you two got into a scuffle. Richie took his beer bottle and clocked you," He continued, "You were out for a minute." "Do you know what it was about?" "What was about?" "The fight, d--n it!" The bartender stared at me and probably could see the frustration and anger building up. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it and turned back to his work. "No," he finally said. I took a deep breath to try and calm myself down. I need this guy to help. Help me figure out where I was at, who this Richie guy was, and why everything was the way it was. I grabbed the piece of paper I found back at the apartment. "Can I use your phone?" The bartender turned to look at me and then handed me the phone. I dialed the number and let it ring, till a woman answered the phone. "Hello?" she said. "Hi, um...Can I ask whose number this is." I asked nervously. I didn't know why I was so nervous, but I was. "What do you want?" the woman asked in a stern voice. "I'm sorry?" I was confused. Did this lady recognize my voice? "I told you not to call here any more." "Look, I just want to know..." "I'm going to call the police if you contact me again," and then she hung up. I slowly put the phone down. I couldn't put together what just had happened. The bartender took the phone out of my hand. "Do you need a drink?" He asked. "Yeah. A whiskey, coke back." The bartender came back with the order. I reached in my pockets and pulled out a twenty and stared at it. "Don't worry about it," said the bartender softly, "This ones on me." I nodded thanking him. I sipped on my drink. The taste of the whiskey was smooth and welcoming. It seemed to be the only thing at this moment that was comforting...and familiar. I closed my eyes and listened to the music playing in the background and just tried to ease my thoughts for a moment...I needed this, I thought to myself. I felt the headache go away, my body began to relax. I took my last gulp to the head and ordered another one. To be continued tomorrow....(i'm tired).