“I’ll find out who I am, and then I’ll find the people who did this to me and make them pay,” he thought aloud. He spit blood in the sink, swished water in his mouth, and spit again. He washed his face carefully, not wanting to cause any more pain and staggered out of the bathroom in search of his identity.

Conversation took a hiatus, jaws dropped. Every eye on him. The bartender walked forward.

“You okay, dude?”

“Do you mind? I just got my ass kicked.”

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

He ignored the bartender. Checked his pocket. No keys. Do I have a car? Guess I don’t anymore. He headed down Broad Street, wondering what to do next. Should I go to the hospital?

A police car approached. Please don’t stop. He heard the siren, was tempted to run. His sweat glands went crazy.

A Hand over his gun, Detective Gomez approached him slowly.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to remain calm. I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay? We’ll start with an easy one. What’s your name?

“I don’t know.”