Client J. - 11/19/88

"And this time? What is the last thing you remember doing before it happened?"

With her voice fading, the darkened room in the Lower East Side falls silent for just a tiny moment, that seems to last an eternity. Solitary sunrays are filtering in through Venetian blinds. Eventually, noises from the streets below manifest themselves in a subtle cacophony, an amalgamation of different sounds no louder than the drop of a pin on a cushioned surface. And then suddenly: A sign of life.

"You know, it's mostly bits and pieces of memories. Mere fragments if you will."

He starts to reach for something in the pockets of his pants, then turns towards her again.

"Do you mind? If I light one up, I mean."

She furrows her brow a bit, but then obliges: "I cannot say I am particularly happy about it. If it helps you relax though, I will not keep from doing it."

He withdraws a cigarette from the package, lights it up and takes a puff.

"All I remember is being somewhere in this public restroom. Where exactly that was, I can't tell. But it must've been somewhere in this area, downtown no doubt. What I was doing there or how I got there in the first place beats me. I can't even remember how I got out of that place again. I was just kinda wavering about and somehow made my way to the sink. It was almost like being in a trance. First a look into the mirror, then I checked out my surroundings."

"Can you describe them? Was there someone with you?"

"I was alone. The room wasn't lit very well and I remember the ceiling being up crazy high. The lights were on, but they were very dim, one of them was flickering slightly. There were tinted windows, or maybe they were blind, hard to tell. And, oh yeah, they were up quite high as well. Must've been somewhere underground. I also distinctly remember seeing light-rays coming through those windows. Deep red and some greenish hues. Their origin was a mystery to me then as it is now. Those panes were too obscure and on top of that, it was hard enough to even maintain some sort of self-perception."

"And this episode happened two weeks ago, you said?"

"It must've been around that time. When I came to, I was on a Brooklyn-bound D-Train. I saw some newspaper spread lying next to me. It said it was the 3rd of November."

“Is there anything personal you associate with that line? Memories, routine commutes perhaps?”

“Not really. Apart from a couple of gigs we played there back in the day, I haven’t been hanging out in Brooklyn that often, to be honest. I grew up in Astoria and spent most of my adult life in the Upper East Side. And, well, now that I’m not exactly that liquid anymore, I’m here. But Brooklyn … no, can’t think of anything.”


He makes his last few puffs and puts out the cigarette in a small hard candy box he had stashed in the pocket of his jacket.

“There were a few trips to Coney Island when I was wee one. But I’d like to hope I’m not so far gone, that my subconscious would send me on some wistful half-comatose odyssey through my childhood.”. He smirks.

"I see. Do not take it personally, but at this point, I want to rule out any possible influence of intoxicating substances. And given your history, I am obligated to ask, especially since our last session was a while back. Have you regularly consumed any alcoholic beverages or mind-altering substances in recent history?"

"You mean apart from Prozac? Nah, I don't touch that shit anymore. Tee-totallin' it all the way and consistently clean, while we're at it. Besides, I know what my nights on the sauce were like. Nothing ever felt like any of these episodes. It's as if entire chunks of a day went missing, there's this profound void. And it seems to affect the hours - sometimes days it seems - prior to my losing it as well. They seem to meld into a vague blur of sorts."

"And those ... images you have been talking about? Do you still see them?"

"They ... well, they've become less frequent. But I still get those flashes from time to time. I guess in a way you could say, they've become clearer."

"What do you mean by that?"

"When they appear to me now, they are more concrete. Almost like a cohesive dream. No longer vague pictorial fragments."

"What do you see? How do you perceive yourself in those moments?"

"Well, I ... it's ... strange. There's this recurring scenario. I am sitting on a bench in a park, yet somehow I'm on a plateau or some elevated tracks. I'm on an eyelevel with the 3rd or 4th floors of the buildings that surround me. Just a mere block or two behind my back, the Hudson River is flowing. I'm observing myself from a distance, it's like an out-of-body-experience. Years have passed, I have grown old, that much I can tell. And all of a sudden, that old man starts to explore his surroundings from his perspective."

"What does the old man see?"

"People, buildings, the hustle and bustle of everyday. Some folks are taking out small screens from their pockets - index fingers firmly swiping across their surfaces. Those people seem somewhat tense and like they are anticipating something."

"And how does the old man feel? How do you feel in this scenario?"

"Tense and like I'm anticipating something. I guess I feel similarly to the people around me. Yet still it seems like I'm waiting for something very specific to happen, almost as if I had some sort of task to fulfill. You must think I'm pretty loony, right?"

"I do not want to hear the L-word here. You are my client and beyond that, a person. All of us have their crosses to bear. You are dealing with an enormous burden. Everyone has their secrets. I can imagine it must be especially exhausting to keep yours."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, the thing we have been discussing during our last session."

"I ... I don't know what this has got to do with any of this."

"It is okay. You can let your guard down, this is a safe place."

He hesitates for a second.

"Well, I ... alright. What can I say? I've been hiding for a long time now. I am a ghost. It seems as if I can't exist in this society - and hence, I don't."

"Yet we cannot help but exist, can we?"

A nervous grin adorns his face. "Someone oughta tell Bonzo. Or the whole fucking nation, while we're at it."

"I understand your anger and frustration, but I am only trying to reach out to you."

"I know. I'm sorry, I guess I got a bit of a temper sometimes."

"All is well. And it is quite understandable. I am afraid we cannot vanquish this social malady overnight. But you may start with bettering things in your own life. I am glad to see you here before me alive and, well ... alive. I am saying this, not as your therapist, but as a concerned peer. I too have lost friends. To see you in good physical health means a lot in those trying times."

,,Well, what can I say? I always played it safe."

"And it is good to hear you have put an end to your drinking habits. You are on the right path."

"So, tell me, what do you think is wrong wi-"

At this point, the tape fell silent. Time to insert Side B.