I work in this bar in South Oakland. It's called Angel's. It's a hole in a wall piece of shit.

Come on by, Taco Tuesdays has no cover.

I live in South Oakland too. This part of Pittsburgh is the college fallout. The gutters are full of vomit and beer.

Sometimes I look at my shoes and wish it was dogshit I just stepped into.

Nights are pretty busy surrounded by all the kids, but the day shift is fucking depressing.

I just serve up I.C. Light to a bunch of Vets riding disability.

Welfare mothers bringing in the kids to buy Zimas with food stamps.

Octogenarians washing down heart pills with Jameson.

I wonder if I'm a pusher.

I wonder if this is all I ever was.

On March 31st, 2007 I woke up in the alley behind this place covered in blood and bruises. I had a huge knot on my head and road rashes down my left side. I had glass in my back.

When I was able to walk I went into the bar and asked for help.

They sent me to the hospital. I was there for a week.

When I got out I had no memory before I woke up. Nothing. I don't even know what my name is. Apparently I told someone my name was Sam in this fugue state I was in.

I was discharged but told that I needed to set up a treatment plan with this brain doctor guy.

I was alone. In heart, head, and home, I was alone.

I went back to Angel's because that was the scene of the crime. Logan, the guy who ran the place said that his usual guy was killed in a car crash the day before I showed up and that he'd give me a place to work and I could crash on his couch until I could figure out what the fuck was going on.

It's been almost two years and nothing.