I found my apartment, not purposely, but there it was. 51A.
I've forgotten most things, as one might expect. I know that my name is Alexander Dougal, 6'2" photogenic organ donor. I know that I am 27 years old, or rather, I was 27 years old. Am I still 27 years old? Am I supposed to stop counting now?
Anyway, my wallet certainly was a gold mine of information. That is a thing people say, yeah? "Gold mine". Although, on second thought, I guess it really isn't much of a gold mine if the contents are of little value. Bank cards, insurance cards, more bank cards...I hope that this was not all of me, my identity; my life entirely reduced to an assortment of multicolored plastic cards containing accumulations of data. The picture on my driver's license is not one of me, my living self; it is merely a face connected to a unique organization of numbers and letters instituted to acknowledge and track my actions, numbers and letters whose importance fades with death, as they have now. It would seem that my life was numbers and letters, nothing more.