All former personas were dead and of no significance.He closed his eyes tighter as the smell of excrement rose in a dank wave from the gurgling drunk behind him.1 am Philip Von Joel and 1 do not belong in this place. . . .The addict grunted sharply. Von Joel opened his eyes and saw him roll on his back, draw up his knees, then turn on his side again and vomit in a steaming gush on to the floor.Von Joel jammed his eyes shut, trying not to breathe the stink. "Dignity." He hissed, "Sense of self . . ."He told himself firmly, over and over, just who he was, and that he didn't belong in that place. He whispered his name and imagined his personhood protected by the force of his will.The addict knelt up suddenly. His chest heaved, his wide eyes cavernous as empty sockets in the oblique light. He vomited again, spewing whatever he had left in his guts across and down his own skeleton chest. Von Joel watched the bloated insects biting, sucking, watched as the ants streamed over the puke, and swallowed, turning away.
