A local radio station, a golden oldie slot, and they were playing his song in the empty pub. He sipped his lunchtime lager, waiting for the kick that would numb his sense of who he was. He wiped the froth of beer from his mouth and wished he could wipe away the froth of memory the tune stirred up. His reflection in the glass behind the bar showed a puffy, beery face, thinning brown hair, and eyes as lifeless as those of a corpse.