Deborah Pt. 3 Saturday

"This may sound weird, but what's my full name, Deborah?"

"Fucking Retard."  She laughs and snarls smoke out of her mouth.

"Seriously, humor me."

"Ricky Davidson."

It just hangs out there.  Growing and mutating.  A snapping snarling bastard, eating calm and harvesting discord.

A name only.

Two words, that don't even smack of originality.

A small sentence.

A great divide.

To the police officer in Pittsburgh, I am Sam Conners.

To the jilted ex I'm some friend of Sam Conners.

To the bartender I'm his twin.

To the sister, I'm somebody completely different.

I'm struggling for a throughline.  Something to grasp onto.  Some dark shore to collapse after beaten by the storm.  

Who am I?

Who really is that bastard in the mirror?