Thirteen years back, I woke up under an overpass with blood all over my jacket and absolutely zero clue who I actually was.
Not just a fuzzy memory. Not a little blurry. Just totally blank.
I opened my eyes to the noise of big trucks shaking the road above me and freezing concrete pressing right into my back. The air smelled exactly like rain, motor oil, and wet cardboard. My head pounded so bad I could hardly even lift it up.
When I glanced down, I spotted dark spots all over my jacket. Blood. Some of it was totally dry, and some had made the material super stiff.
For a couple of minutes, I just sat right there, waiting for my own name to pop into my head.
It totally never did.
Voir la suite sur la page suivante:
