The ceiling fan had three old fashioned long metal blades. One of the blades wobbled and squeaked. Another had a large rust spot shaped a little like an ice cream cone. He hadn't found anything remarkable about the third one yet. But it wasn't for lack of looking. His eyes had stared at the ceiling fan stirring lazy circles in the stale hot air for an hour or more. At least he thought it was at least an hour. No watch. Hard to tell. And the bright light shining through the room's sole window hadn't altered much from harsh and bright.

It wasn't for lack of desire to leave the bed. The mattress was thin and stunk. He could feel springs poking into his back and ass. And he had to pee. Badly. He was just waiting for the moment when the pain in his bladder beat out the pain in his body. There wasn't a single part of his anatomy that didn't hurt. Throb. Cry out. Maybe his feet. They seemed okay.

When he couldn't take it any longer he groaned loud enough to wake the dead and forced his body up against crushing gravity and swung his legs out over the edge of the bed. Waited for the room to stop spinning like an amusement park ride. Or at least slow a bit. Raising his hands to hold his head, he felt a sharp pain in his upper left arm and his right hand throbbed. Looking at the hand, he saw red raw and swollen knuckles. And what looked like a human bite mark. Wasn't ready to turn his head far enough to look at his upper left arm. All in good time.

He stared at the ground for a while. His bare feet resting on godawful ugly stained linoleum. Looking a bit further he noted an oval rug. Was probably once pretty. Braided and formerly brightly colored, it had faded to an almost uniform muddy brownish-grey.

Lifting his head a bit further he scanned the rest of the room. There was a dresser with an old 13" TV with rabbit ears. A sink stuck out of the wall in the corner. Next to the sink there was a door that he prayed led to a bathroom. Otherwise it would be the sink, with apologies to the proprietors of this fine establishment.

Planting his feet on the sticky linoleum he weaved his way to the door and was gratified to see a toilet. Cracked, surrounded by a pool of dirty water, and a brush hadn't seen the inside of it since it's installation most likely, but any port in a storm …

Standing unsteadily he undid the fly on his jeans and began to release his aching bladder. He was unprepared for the new flash of pain in his back and groin and he let out an involuntary yelp of pain and swayed, catching himself with a free hand on the wall. Looking down he saw that his urine was dark brown. Don't think it's supposed to be that color…

After zipping up, he reached a hand around to his back and found a soft hot spot over his kidney. That'd do it…

Shuffling wearily back out into the room he stopped in front of the sink. Turning on the faucets rewarded him with a stream of rusty water. No hot, no matter how long he let it run. He settled for tepid and washed up his hands with the nub of mealy soap sitting on the corner, paying close attention to the bite mark on his knuckles. He rubbed water over his face, letting some run into his mouth. The acrid metallic taste stayed on his tongue even after spitting the water out immediately upon its entrance. He fingered a sore molar. Loose. Great. Staring at his reflection in the cracked and flyspecked mirror over the sink he saw dark smudges under darker brown eyes. Running his fingers through his closely cropped dark hair he felt sore spots behind his ear and at his temple where blood had crusted into a scab. Another bruise appeared as a dusky shadow on his jaw near the loose tooth.

Taking a few wobbly steps back he checked out the rest of his pitiful appearance. He was wearing only a pair of dirty jeans. His torso was mottled with bruises, concentrated over his ribs and stomach. And apparently on my back as well…

Around his left bicep was wrapped a tattered piece of fabric, loose threads hanging from its ragged edges. It was originally white with what looked like a small blue flower pattern.

A vision hovered around the periphery of his memory.

Horns. Guitars. A white skirt covered in blue flowers spinning- flaring out with the speed of its owner's twirling. Clapping. Bright white smile in a face the color of café au lait framed by dark curly locks. Magenta on her lips.

The memory was gone as fast as it came, leaving a vague smile on his face, unconsciously matching the smile on hers.

He returned to studying the fabric bandage. Because that's what its new purpose obviously was. Blood had soaked through and crusted, but there remained a damp spot in the middle where the blood continued to ooze. Probing foolishly at the wound, he felt pain lance through his arm and he gasped. Stumbling his way back to the bed he fell back down to sit on the edge, cradling the arm to his chest protectively, lightly rocking and whispering prayers and apologies in the hopes that the pain would fade.

A lifetime later the fire eased back to a dull ache, sinking back into the chorus of throbbing pain that sang over his entire body.

His eye returned to the window. Narrow and high. Sighing, he rose slowly from the bed and hobbled over to get a closer look. Vertical and horizontal grid of metal covered the entirety. Large holed mesh metal screen behind the bars. Nails inside through the frame. Leaning forward he peered through one of the few unobstructed parts of the dirty glass. An alleyway. Dumpsters overflowing with garbage. Empty boxes piled next to the Dumpsters. Spanish writing on the boxes. Huevos. Eggs. Carne fresco. La subsistencia refrigeró. Fresh meat- keep refrigerated. Some other words he didn't recognize. Most appeared to be from Orozco's Mercado. Obviously a market of some kind. Leaning further in he tried to see if he could get a glimpse at the street but the bars prevented any further view.

He returned to the bed and sat with his head resting in his hands, trying to piece together where he was and what had happened. With a groan of frustration mixed with pain he laid back down to resume staring at the ceiling fan, allowing its fixed languid rotation and rhythmic squeak to hypnotize him once again.

He had realized that putting together where and what was an exercise in futility as he was missing the biggest piece of the puzzle that was his current situation.

He had no idea who the hell he was.