He couldn’t recall a thing. Nothing rang a bell for him. He was lying in the middle of the street, a cab driver yelling and honking at him to move out of the way.
He was dressed: trousers, shirt, coat, shoes. But he didn’t recognize any of it. What place he was in, the name of that street, heck he didn’t even know his own name.
“Get out of the fucking way!” The cab driver shouted and he leaped to the sidewalk.
Raindrops fell on his head, he stretched out his hands, drops made a small puddle inside.
Who am I? Where the hell am I? Nothing answered back.
“Identity Theft.” A bum said.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“I survived it, you may not.” The bum pushed a loaf of bread into his wet hands.
“I need to talk to the police!” He cried.
The bum laughed, “They won’t believe a man who doesn’t even know who he is”, and turned on his heels.
“How could this happen? How do you know this? There has to be an explanation.” He looked round the empty street, desperation creeping up on him.
“Explanation? They robbed your identity, that’s it.”
Then he watched the bum run away, the ground trembling under him.
‘Now I’ll never know’ he thought as the out-of-control garbage truck got dangerously close.
‘Martin Scott, thirty-six years old, husband of Deborah Scott, thirty-two years old. Father of Lindsay, three and Maggie, 6 months. Grew up in Texas, first girlfriend Sandra, the pretty blonde from 8th grade. Moved to Boston when M.I.T. accepted him to their Computer Engineering Program. Graduated top of his class, job offers even before graduation. Married Deborah a year later, perfect wedding, beautiful house, perfect kids, and beautiful office.’
He remembered as the truck ran him over.