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.