So I’m going home, back to the place where I belong. And where your love has always been enough for me.

A memory, the lyrics to some song he must have heard a thousand times.

Terry spent several calculated moments taking in his habitat. He deducted he was single, because his place was a mess. The kitchen sink was full of crusty dishes, the garbage can overflowing. He surveyed the living room, fast food everywhere, plenty of Coors Light bottles. He studied his mail, his old photographs – everything he thought might give him a clue to his identity.

No memory flashes.

His home was familiar, yet foreign.

Who am I? Will I ever remember? He had a chill. I must be avenged.

A google search later, he had netted the address to the downtown apartment of one Robert ‘Twiggy’ Banks. Terry walked into his garage and was elated when he saw an emerald green Ford Mustang. He searched his home, found a spare key.

He would pay the notorious Twiggy Banks a visit, but not before he did one more thing.