I've been in the strange city for I don't know how many weeks. I don't want to know how many weeks just like I didn't want to know it had really been four years back home, just like I didn't want to remember Kenny G blasting out of my own bathroom and the sight of my wife fucking another man.

But I can't seem to forget that, now, so I guess that's that. 

Nikki isn't here and she never will be because of the restraining order. I never had a shot with Nikki. They weren't her words. They were Tiffany's.

I'm trying hard not to be mad at her but sometimes I still want to punch her, sometimes I feel my knuckles curling into fists and I just want to scream at everyone around me.

I don't, though. I close my eyes and hum a single note and count to ten and even though I haven't been on my meds in I don't know how many weeks, I'm doing better than I was before I watched that tape and remembered the hospital and the hate and the restraining order and ––

Someone's staring at me.

"What are you looking at?"