25 Nov. 99 - noon
God, my face itches. Guess that's good, but it's all I can do to keep from clawing it. Burns are peeling & healing - beard's coming in scraggly & scratchy. Can't shave - better that I don't. Dammit! Getting cabin fever. I'm a patient man. Mind over matter. I can control this. It will pass. Focus, dammit!
I was lying here thinking, trying to rest my eyes - keep my hands off my face. Had them under my back for a while. My mind goes in circles. I suspect it's better off spinning than contemplating the mattress I'm lying on. I'll swear a skunk died & rotted right here, but it's either this or the floor & considering the creepies, I think I'll stay here.
Heard the clerk pounding on Charlie's door, then on the girls'. "Open up! Pay up! Rent's overdue!" Even on Thanksgiving. Hate to think this - didn't open the door to confirm it, but I think one of the girls serviced his needs. Poor kid. I should have done something - in another life I would have, but gut instinct, or self-preservation, tells me to stay put, lay low. Think! Wrap my mind around this. Find the center & I will find the truth.
But why didn't he knock on my door? How do I find out how I came here? Surely he knows I'm here, but what if he doesn't? I can't be under my own name. I'd have been found. What name am I under? How can I ask, "Oh, by the way, who was I when I registered?" Could I have gotten here by myself? Where did these clothes come from? I wrote that they smelled of oil, but that's not it. Don't know what that smell was - more like burnt rubber - rotten eggs - intense smog? Horrible. Thank God I was able to wash it out in the shower. I need a coat & shoes that fit - & socks. I don't have any socks. Why did I have my watch, but not my ring? What became of it? Why do know about the safe deposit key, but not my ring?
How do I find out about my name? I've avoided the question with Charlie & the girls. In this part of town you don't ask. I questioned "Bambi" about the lobby. She said both the day & night clerks are new. I need to go look myself. She said the desk is behind bullet proof glass with the booth always locked, which means I can't sneak a peek at the files when he happens to be answering nature's call or "collecting rent".
Christ! I hate this paper. Damned Easter egg. Yet I have to smile - it's so ludicrous. To think - in my dotage I may look back & read these rambling passages - I suppose, tragic passages - spread across these pages with their happy bouquet in the corner. There's another irony - that I might actually have a dotage. Hell - maybe I'm already in it - eyes, ears, body, brain certainly feel like it.
What if it's not dotage? What if this is Hell? 666? Could it be? Dear God, help me.
| Next |
| CONTENTS |
| E-mail: Dubricus |
