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He knows that he loves the taste of Youtiao and was even able to chat with the vendor in Cantonese. He feels like he knows even more languages. Yet he cannot remember what his name is, where he is from or what he does for a living.
He returns to the one place that he knows. There he stands at that apartment that he woke up in. A key in his pocket opens the apartment door, confirming that he lives here. The drivers license on the kitchen table tells him that his name is John Nomadonia. He looks good in the photo.
Still groggy he looks around for clues. He finds a briefcase under his bed. He pulls the briefcase out, resting it on the mattress he opens it. He finds more identification cards in the briefcase, more driver’s licenses and 6 or 7 passports. His name can also be Harold Johnson, Samuel Krypinksi, Ivoceno Rossini, Michael Richardson, Christian Maldini or Julio Vargas.
What the hell? Either I’m a spy or some kind of international hit-man or something. “OK , I can’t.. my head ... need sleep” He is assured that he is at a place that belongs to him, maybe his apartment or a safe house. He lays back on the bed , closing his eyes.
Suddenly he is outside again. It’s raining… no it’s pouring. Gray statues stand before him in the hundreds. The lightning above brightens the sky and shines off of the water at his feet. Ankle high water floods the entire area for as far as he can see. A piano sits in the open space. Clocks floating in the air untethered. A child's tricycle rides past him, self-powered apparently. A train track leads into the water and disappears on one direction. In the other direction it leads through a gate and into what looks like a tunnel, but is actually just a black painted wall. It's a train to nowhere. The statues on the tunnel tell him that there has not been a train on these tracks for a very long time.
He starts to spin, then realizes it’s not him spinning, it’s everything else. A 6 foot bat flies toward him and begins to talk to him. He chuckles at a weird thought “look it’s batman.” The 6 foot bat disappears leaving just a crow on the tricycle. The crow speak English. The crow tells him, “find the documents, they took the hard drive, she’s likely dead. You have to find them.” The spinning worsens, he stumbles and falls. As he hits the ground he awakens. He is at the apartment again, in the bed that he thinks is his. “What the hell, what a weird dream. I must have really hit my head hard.” He turns his to see a crow outside on the ledge by the window.
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