Estelle awoke in a warm haze. She was on the floor of a familiar but strange house, nude, with her minidress and a beer bottle lying beside her. And her vibrator in her hand. The only thing she was wearing were her black stockings, now stained in white, and her hair band, which sat askew in her platinum blonde hair reeking of cigarettes. Her chalk white flesh, having been left exposed to the summer night, had the metallic cool of liquid mercury. Estelle gathered her bearings and tried to remember what happened. She peered into her mind but only the void gazed back. On her right arm was a note written in sharpie. “You have amnesia. Check purse.”