It's 3 AM. I'm wandering aimlessly around the casino floor, trying to remember exactly where I am. My head is throbbing. My vision is slightly blurred. There is a slight metallic taste in my mouth and my wrists are raw. As I pass a mirror I'm shocked by my appearance. My clothes are tattered, my hair has been cut in jagged seams and I am wearing a pair of brown shoes I don't recognize as my own.
I woke up surrounded by three doctors and a man in a dark suit. The contrast between the white lab coats and the dark suit was sharp and made me uncomfortable. "Sir? Sir? How are you feeling?" asked the doctor to my left. "Where am I?" "Valley Hospital Medical Center in Las Vegas." "How did I get here?" "A policemen brought you in. You were lying on the floor at The Venetian, semi-conscious. Do you remember being brought in?" "No. The last thing I remember is looking in a mirror and barely recognizing myself. I must have passed out." "You didn't have any identification with you. Would you mind telling us your name?" "My name?" "Yes. Can you tell us your name and where you live please." A sliver of panic ran the length of my spine and I suddenly felt cold. "Can I get a glass of water?" I couldn't remember my name. "Take your time," said the man in the dark suit. "Take your time."
I arrived in Las Vegas 71 days ago. 70 of those days are blank.