He spends his days in a lucid dream of other people's memories. They pay to store their fleeting recollections inside his mind, in allotted slots that are supposed to stay separate from his individual reality. But memory doesn’t adhere to such stringent rules. They bleed into his own memory, colouring his reveries with foreign emotions and sewing new details into them from other stories. If only he could remember what it was like before this, what it is to look back into his own life without all the strangers there, to understand what led to this. But he never can.
Paddy Dobson
10th July 2024