#171

frantic.
searching a box under his bed. where is it? anything, anything.
a whole day of his life, gone. vanished, nowhere in his memory. he scanned the wall. pennies, cigarette butts, notes, headlines, each with a tiny date scribbled in his own handwriting.
if i can't remember, it never happened. if there's nothing to document, how did i know i was here?
every moment, missing.