Drip, drip.

The sight of the small cut on my finger startles me.  I wish I could remember where I'd recieved it.  The cut has reopened and the blood is slowly dripping out on the table and I instinctively grab a napkin off the table and press it to my hand in order to stop the bleeding. 

The mystery of my existence has really begun to eat at me.  Where do I go from here?  I don't know where I live, who my friends are, or how I got to be in this position in the first place. 

I wrap the napkin firmly around my finger and finish my sandwich.  Then for lack of any other choice I leave the cafe. 

The phone in my pocket rings again and I answer it.  The voice from before fills the earpiece and with it the next clue to my existence.

The End

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