"...I woke in this bed a week ago, with the crease lines of well-starched linen mapping out irrelevancies across my skin. I studied them as I focused, those precise and unequivocal lines forged into me so deep and yet temporarily. Soon enough they were fading as a dusk, and quickly my private etchings had dissolved into smooth flesh once more, blank, almost, but for some pale hairs and an occasional mole. But I didn't know these moles, nor these arms or legs, in fact nothing seemed to belong to me. And that's when I realised, in panic, numb, that I was all at sea. I couldn't and can't tell you a single thing about me. I woke up and all I could see, beyond the confines of this windowless room, was your face and the city..."