He woke up at 7.35 a.m. The sun rays were hurting his eyes as he tried to close the thick black curtain. He couldn’t remember what happened the night before but one thing was for sure: It seemed he didn’t kill anyone – no blood on his hands, clothes, or sheets -,he didn’t fuck anyone – his bed was empty, his hips didn’t hurt, and there didn’t seem to be anybody in the bathroom-, and he didn’t mug anyone – no unidentified items on the floor or the bedside table; that was a change. An empty bottle of some kind of alcholic beverage lied on the floor, beside the bed. He was unable to read the name on the label but it wasn’t Jack Daniels as usual. That made him think: if it wasn’t Jack Daniels, his favourite, then the bourbon section in the cupboard was empty. If the bourbon section in the cupboard was empty, he surely, at some point yesterday night, went outside to get a bottle. Hence, something must have happened. No one went out at night into the streets of London in 2089 and came back with no story to tell, with no person killed, fucked or mugged; it was a wild world out there and he loved it. So, what on earth did I do yesterday night? – he wondered.