There is a man living in an abandoned apartment in Belgium. I don’t remember his name, but he remembers mine. He remembers what my face looks like and how it changes when I’m lying, he remembers the colors, brands, and smells of everything I wore, and he, unfortunately, remembers my attempt at pushing him down the stairs. His memory is a rare, magnificent tool. It’s served him very well, because the man with the perfect memory can do a lot of things, but forgetting is not one of them. Others may shed their pain, but his skin remains the same.
19: The Man with the Memories