14 Hours

"Morning sunshine," the homeless man says as he shakes twice and goes about his day.

My head is throbbing, I have cotton mouth something fierce, and I got no idea where the hell I am. Gathering my bearings I hear traffic from above and use my hand to cover the sun as I look up at the bridge above me. Checking my pockets I find my phone is thankfully intact and has a little power left.

It's nine in the morning. I have fourteen hours of lost memories.