I have stopped moving.
The orange light is facing me.
The orange light still flickers and pulses in my blurred vision and I strain to raise my right hand to my face. The effort is like raising a lead weight and my arm feels like it is about to explode with pins and needles but my hand flops onto my face and I bludgeon my fingers into life by sheer willpower.
My face is cold, my face is wet.
As I drag my fingers across my eyes and my vision clears for a moment, then fogs again.
Something tickles the back of my useless hand as it lies torpid across my mouth and nose.
There is an unpleasant sensation in my eyes but it isn’t caused by the flickering orange light.
Other senses are coming back online.
I hear white noise; but it isn’t white and it isn’t noise.
It is rain.
Rain beating down on the pavement beneath my aching back; my aching back.
Rain beating down on my face.
Rain beating down on my open eyes.
I blink and they clear.
The orange light still flickers above me.
I can see it clearly now.
It is a streetlamp, its tube striking and failing, again and again.
I let my hand flop back off my face to land with a stinging wrap to my knuckles on the hard concrete; hard concrete.
I feel the pain; only slight, but it fires more neurons.
I lift both my leaden arms and let them fall.
It is more painful now, reminding me that I am alive.
My mind kick starts with the latest flash of the orange streetlight.
I am lying, hurting, on the ground, getting soaking wet in some God forsaken city street.
Now if I could only remember my name.