Kierk wakes up and dwells for a while amid the covers, already having a coherent mental conversation with himself over the flat liquid mercury of his mind, a monologue proposing that perhaps, during the waking operations of the brain, small segregated parts of it become cut off, involved in only their own processing, and produce within them functional micro-consciousnesses, disconnected events, local dreams, perception without a self, qualia unassigned, unknown and amnesiac, whole brain circuits left in an idling conscious state, forming and winking out at a startling rate. Perhaps even this very thought occurred in one such micro-subjectivity and then bubbled up to fill the space of his receptive morning mind, and that every day’s consciousness was the continuation of some lucky dream.

In the lobby of his building, as he is passing the security desk, tapping out a cigarette from a new pack, someone calls to him.

“Hey! You look like you’re feeling better!” Standing behind the shoehorn desk is a smiling middle-aged black man in a dark blue uniform.

“What do you mean?”

“You probably don’t remember me,” the security guard guffaws. “I normally work the night shift. Last time you saw me you were, I mean, I’ve been there myself. You certainly had a time of it.”

“Friday,” Kierk says. “You’re talking about the Friday night before last.”

“Would have been around then. Man, you were far-gone. I feel that though, I feel that.”

Kierk’s manner has changed in a way that only someone who knows him would notice: now there is a different stance, an aw-shucks tilt to his smile, his sentences not rapid-fire as usual but drawling and slow.

“So . . . What can you tell me about that night? I’m missing some parts of it.”

“Well that’s too bad. That’s something to remember. You were with that girl. What a thing. What a creature! Give me five, man.”

Kierk high-fives him quizzically, his face one of confusion. “What girl do you mean?”

“The blonde one. You two were hot and heavy together on the sidewalk, man. Gotta hand it to you. Most fine-looking woman I’ve ever seen. I thought for sure she was going to go upstairs with you, cause you both came into the lobby, and were still going at it. Making out. Not that I minded, man. I was rooting for you. I thought that you were gonna score big man. But then you both left.”

Kierk’s mind is an explosive carnival of music, a round of live ammo dropped. “We left? Why?”

The security guard gives a deep-bellied laugh. “Don’t ask me, man, can’t believe you did. You were doing your thing in the lobby for a sec. Then you left.”

“Do you remember the time?”

“Actually, I do, because we get a security check at 2:00 a.m. This was a little after that. Maybe fifteen minutes later?”

“And when did I come back?”