Forget Me Nearly
Borgenese was still speaking. "Whatever you do, keep in touch with us. It'll take time to run down this name, and maybe we'll draw a blank. But something significant may show up. If you're serious, and I think you are, it's to your advantage to check back every day or so."
"I'm serious," said Luis. "I'll keep in touch."
There wasn't much to pack. The clothing he wore had been supplied by the police. Ordinary enough; it would pass on the street without comment. It would do until he could afford to get better.
He went down to the desk and picked up his money. It was more than he'd expected--the average man didn't carry this much in his pocket. He wondered about it briefly as he signed the receipt and walked out of retro-therapy. The counselor had said it was an average amount, but it wasn't.
He stood in the street in the dusk trying to orient himself.
Perhaps the money wasn't so puzzling. An average amount for those brought into therapy for treatment, perhaps. B