I have no memory prior to the cars and there is reason to believe I have no future poised for memories after. I have no time to cling to any traces of individuality. Memories are a danger, a waterfall of longing that I drown under if I get stuck, longing that bathes my body and blinds my eyes and floods my lungs until I have perhaps remembered a distant comfort, long gone, a face or name or soft t...

Remnants of lovers long past in my back pocket

Stuffed hastily in overflowing drawers

Folded carefully in my wallet

Hanging on my walls

Nestled in the dust beneath my bed....

"What exactly do you expect?" My best friend stands in front of me, hands gripping her hips, her face pulled into a scowl that is more anxious than disdainful. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Well," I say, slowing my voice as to keep it steady, "I expect that by morning she'll be back to normal, and we just have to wait it out."

"We!" She throws her hands in the air and turns to pace...