Her head hurt, and her right shoulder, too, as though she’d wrenched something, but she couldn’t move. She was strapped down, under bright, sterile lights. It looked like a hospital. A sign was posted on the ceiling, obviously intended for the occupant of this bed. It said, INDUSTRY IS THE BACKBONE OF CIVILIZATION; WORK, THE JOY OF MANKIND. What had happened? Where had she been? The more she struggled to think, the more confused she felt. She remembered commonplace things: words and numbers and streetcar schedules and how to bake a loaf of bread. But she couldn’t remember where she lived or whom she lived with. She remembered the world but not her place within it, which made it all seem hollow. When she looked at herself, she saw only a white sheet, but underneath it, straps restrained her to the bed. She didn’t seem to be wearing much, maybe a hospital gown. Something papery. A glance around revealed bare walls with lights shaped like triangles pointing downward to linoleum floors.
