The sound of a train running on rickety, old tracks wakes the sleeping man up. He opens his eyes, shifts his head to look at his surroundings, and is shocked to find himself lying on a grimy tile floor. A blanket lies atop of him. Its color reminds him of a wheat-field, though he’s never seen one. The clothes he wears remind him of a lumberjack, though he’s never met one. The ring on his fourth finger reminds him of a wedding ring, a wonderful marriage, a happy family. Though he never had one.

   He sits up and realizes that he is in a subway. People in business suits impatiently waiting for the train to arrive, a couple of teenagers with schoolbags slung across their shoulders—it’s all so familiar, yet so strange. He decides to stand up, but the movement seems alien. The man leans against the wall for support. He almost stumbles just trying to stand up.

   Strangers eye him carefully. They seem afraid, nervous, and perhaps a bit disgusted. The man understands why. He feels like he hasn’t taken a bath in weeks. His forehead is sticky with sweat, his brown hair clinging to his face and neck. He figured that passersby were right to think that he was just a homeless person. In fact, he was almost certain that he was. No memory, no idea of exactly where he was, no way to contact anyone. He truly felt homeless.

   Yet, the man had a strange feeling in his chest that told him that he was not some random person living off scraps of food or the generosity of strangers. No, he was not. He had an aching feeling that told him, “You have a life. Go find it. Go live it.” He had an urge to run and find his life. “You have a wife. A beautiful wife, and children. Happy, smiling children that you’ve raised!” But no matter how hard his mind screamed, no matter how much that ring blinded him with its brilliance, no matter how much that musty blanket reminded him of a baby with an innocent smile, nothing willed him to walk forward, much less run to find his life and live it again.

   He fell to his knees, ignoring the cautious stares of people waiting for their train to arrive. Boy, they must have been thinking, “That poor man. No family. No home. Such a shame. He seems like he’s lost it.” How the man wanted to shout at them and convince them that he did have a family. He did have a home. He did. For a moment the world seemed brighter and the man spotted a prescription bottle. He unscrewed it and took out six white pills. Down they go again. Down they go again, like fire in his throat. By God, did he enjoy the fire. Down they go again.