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I was sitting in Phil's Diner over on 34th Street, reading the afternoon edition and nursing my fourth cup of coffee; one cream, two sugars. The cold rain was rolling down the window of the decommissioned railroad dining car, causing the lights on the street to warp into funny shapes. It was almost like the beginning of that old show, The Twilight Zone, where the images warped and waved about before coming into focus.

Every once in a while the street outside was illuminated by the bright flash of a lightning strike. At these times, I almost half expected to see some scary looking gremlin looking in at me through the window, just like in that episode with William Shatner flying the red-eye. Instead, I saw a small group of winos huddled in the doorway of the old, boarded up Carmine Theater across the street. Several letters still clung to the marquee. However, there weren't enough to tell me what last played there. Memories lost by an old, run down, decrepit building.

I smiled a little to myself, amused at the thought, "That poor building iss just like me."

Sixteen days of my life were missing. They had happened two years ago and I couldn't remember a thing about them. The frustrating part was that those sixteen days changed my life. No. Scratch that. They tore my life apart. ...

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