The man woke up. He was in bed. He didn’t remember going to bed. This wasn’t his room. But he had been here before. Maybe. Definitely. He remembered that picture on the wall. Kind of. Another man on a boat. A big boat. He had seen that boat before. Maybe. Probably just in the picture. A memory of seeing TITANIC on a snowy night in a nearly empty movie theater emerged, then disappeared. The man got up. His head hurt. The room was small. The door was ajar. He smelled sausage. The man suddenly realized his hunger. He walked out the door without thinking twice. Another man was there, in the kitchen. The man from the picture. The man from the picture offered him sausage. The man accepted, eating three large patties as if he were swallowing pills. “Do I know you?” he asked. The man from the picture laughed and said that he did. “Can you tell me how I got here?” he asked. “I’m afraid I can’t,” the man from the picture replied. “Why not?” “Because you told me not to.” “…Why?” “I’m not sure you knew yourself.” “Oh.” The man took a large patty, devouring it without thinking. “I figure you got a concussion last night, at any rate,” the man from the picture said. Yes, yes. That would explain the headache. Does it hurt to touch? He slowly pressed his index and middle finger to the back of his skull. He winced. Ouch. Yes, it does. “Do you think you could retrace your steps?” the man from the picture asked, “It could help that memory problem of yours.” Yes, he could do that. The man couldn’t remember that last time he had been on a walk. He didn’t think that was because of the concussion, though. “Thank you for the breakfast,” the man said, now realizing he had eaten two more patties. The man from the picture nodded casually like he had done this before. Like he had run a bed and breakfast once or something. “You sure you want to go outside like that?” the man from the picture asked, “it’s been snowing a little while.” The man instantly became aware of his clothing. An old grey T-shirt. The left sleeve was slightly torn. Slightly newer blue jeans. The bottoms were dirty. Slightly older Nikes. All white. Or they were, at one time. He recalled wearing this outfit frequently. Apparently he had slept like this. “I’ll be fine, thanks,” said the man, opening the door. The man from the picture nodded with understanding. Or was it sympathy? Pity? He turned around and put another sausage patty on the pan. The man closed the door. The house was small. Stucco. An Oldsmobile sat on the curb. That looked familiar. It was cold after all. Some flurries swirled in slow-moving tornados descending from the sky. The front steps had some ice on them. He thought of TITANIC again. It was here. No, that was just an Oldsmobile. He slowly went down the steps. Turn right or left? Where do people normally go on walks? What was the purpose? He went left. No wait, that didn’t feel right. The man turned around. Oh damn. That looked incredibly familiar. Some things came back. A half a block away. There was yelling. An argument. With who? A physical altercation. With the same person? Tough to say. He had been grabbed and thrown into a lamppost. Okay. The concussion, the torn shirt, the dirty clothes. Okay. But why? Could this person still be nearby? The man turned to take a step closer. There was ice. Of course. He slipped and fell backwards. Hard. The man woke up. He was in bed. He didn’t remember going to bed. This wasn’t his room. But he had been here before. Maybe. Definitely.
can’t even tell you how bad I needed this gif right now
Method Man, Mike D, Neal Brennan & Dave Chappelle (2004)
Revolutionary technology sparks first official video for Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone”
this is the best thing.