by J.R. Bowles
CHAPTER 13
In the remnants of the burned-out South Ferry terminal to Staten Island, a bum lay doubled over in pain on the cool concrete floor. He had vomited all over himself, and the smell of urine and alcohol permeated the air around him.
People walked by him, some occasionally glancing down in disgust or pity. His eyes were closed tight. When the pain from the opening eased, he began to wake up.
“Dear God,” he thought, “it's begun.” Flashes of memories pounded his mind, as he realized where he was and how he had come to be there.
The past two years of his life had been lost. He had been living like a vagrant that long, but now, with the awakening, he remembered at last who he was.
He tried to struggle to his feet, but was still too drunk to accomplish it. He collapsed back down and decided to try to sleep; for with the light of day, he must return to the world of the living.
