I can’t seem to see that far, my eyes are caked with mucous and dust. I face the direction the red lights disappeared, maybe they had something to do with Her.

I can’t remember who I am, all I have is the taste of her blood, that’s all that binds me to reality. I slip off my shoe to remove a painful stone. Converse? My socks are blue booties.

I start stripping off my clothes. My sweat jacket is Nike. My belt is stamped Genuine Leather. My jeans are Carhartt’s. My shirt is a weird kind of blue-green, boxy and too big. I pull off my white Hanes boxers and undershirt, spreading them out with the others.

I must look foolish, sitting in the road naked, dirt crawling up my ass-crack. Like reading tea leaves, every piece has a scribble:

Caleb Batiste 51C and my blue shirt is labeled Sacred Heart Hospital.

I remember now. I’m sick, maybe dying? I’m not a U.S. citizen. I thought she was driving me to safety. Instead she dragged me out of the van, we both fought for our lives.

Where am I?