She opened her eyes.
It took her a moment to recognize the underside of the bridge, to feel the smooth, cool boulders on either side of her. Her mouth tasted bitter, her lips dry, her body ached. She put a hand to her face and saw the mixture of dirt and blood that caked her fingers. Her head throbbed as she struggled to remember, to piece the night together as she had countless others, but she could not. Struggling to raise herself, she glanced warily around.
A couple of yards away, by the edge of the water, a man lay on his side surrounded by broken bottles. She could see his face, streaked with grime and clusters of dark hair, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth slightly open. He seemed so familiar to her, but she could not give him a name. Perhaps he could tell her what had happened, and why she was here. She struggled to her hands and knees and crawled across the dirt, ignoring the searing pain in her head.
Henry groaned as he began to regain consciousness. He felt the familiar ache of a hangover, and knew without opening his eyes that it had been another one of those nights. He could feel the unfamiliar softness of dirt beneath his body, and knew that when he opened them, he wouldn't know where he was or how he had gotten there. The night would be lost to him, just like all the others.
"Excuse me," a women's voice called. His eyes flickered open, and his vision blurred as he saw himself gazing into the eyes of a young woman, her face framed with tangled yellow hair. Despite the bruises on her skin, and the streaks of blood and dirt across her brow, she seemed strangely familiar, though he couldn't imagine where he had seen her before.
"Are you all right?" He asked, staring at the bruises. One side of her hair was streaked with a brown tinge, as though covered in blood.
"I don't know," she whispered hoarsely. "I woke up...just over there...and I don't remember..."
He forced himself to sit. "I'm sorry, I can't help you," he answered. "You look like someone got you pretty good though. Why don't we see if we can get you cleaned up a bit?"
She scooted closer to him. "You look so familiar," she said. "Like we've met before. Do you sleep here--" she indicated the bridge --"often?"
"Oh, no," Henry replied. "At least, I don't think so. I haven't woken up here before. Usually it's other places--alleys, and such." He told her about the strange things that had been happening at night, after drinking, and how he could never remember where he was or why. "You look so familiar too," he finished. "But I think I'd remember you, if we had met before."