It's like this.

Whoa. From the National Archives UK, via.


Also from the National Archives UK, via.


By: Sean Stewart, via.


By: Ted Barron.

There is someone here at work that sits at the desk to my right. We're about ten feet apart, I guess. They talk to me a lot at a quiet conspiratorial volume, about our boss and whatnot, but I can never hear them. Never. At first I would ask "what?" a lot but now I just nod. I make the same face they're making and nod. I wonder how much pertinent information I'm missing. Not much, I wager. I damaged my memory with drugs years ago, anyway, so it's not unusual to be asked, "We talked about this, remember?" No, sorry, no. Sorry.

It's sort-of strange, anyway. I don't remember where common buildings are in the city I have lived in for ten years. I don't remember huge, important events that I have been a part of. I don't remember if I've met you or not and I certainly don't remember your name. Sorry. No, sorry, I don't remember this or that. Any of that.

And that's the way it is.