The world shook ... "¿Hola? ... ¿Amigo? ... Buenas dias, amigo ... ¿Como esta?" Eyes opened, hospital ward ... lights were up, daylight from windows ... morning again. Caesar gently shaking an arm, smiling.

"Bien, gracias. ¿E usted?"

"Bien, gracias. ¿Que llama ...?" Lacking the words, Caesar's gesture took in the folded legs, the arms resting on the knees, the posture of the body.

"Zazen," not really an explanation. "Thinking ... meditation ... Silence looking for ... something. ¿Que hora est?"

"Six o'clock, amigo. Time to get ready for breakfast. Duty nurse, he say you sitting like that todo del noche. You need a hand? For the lavatory? ¿Si?"

"Gracias, no," unfolded legs and stood. A little shaky but strong enough. Took two steps ... looked at adjacent bed. Empty ... no emaciated figure ... no blankets ... no pillow ...

"Muerte," Caesar offered. "Died last night," Caesar crossed himself before adding, "Aids."

"Sorry ... lo siento mucho," such inadequate words.

"Su hora no est aqui," Caesar offered.

It was a quote - 'Your hour is not here' - or maybe a prayer. Didn't recognize source. Started toward bathroom ...

"Uno momento," Caesar interrupted. "¡Aqui!"

Turned. Caesar was holding out a small zippered bag and a towel.

Looked inside - toothbrush, toothpaste, disposable razor, shaving cream, small bar of soap, dental floss, sample-sized bottle of mouthwash, plastic comb - the essentials of toiletry and a little more. "Gracias," thanked him, then added, "Muchas gracias, amigo."

"De nada," Caesar nodded before turning to offer a hand to another patient.

* * *

Breakfast was more welcome than had expected - foolish body was very hungry. Ate everything, wished for more. George was right - wished for salt, too.

First food, then exercise. Walked length of ward and back, then walked down again. Exchanged hello's passing Captain Donavi - on crutches, swinging way to bathrooms - startled slightly to be called 'Alex'.

Reached Daniel Wills' bed - said good mornings and claimed legs were tiring as excuse to stop for a moment. "Didn't mean to pry yesterday," offered apology, keeping voice low so not overheard.

"Wasn't that," Wills grimaced. "Just ... maybe I'll tell you sometime. Good call though, you were right - I am a CPA. You always that lucky guessing?"

Shrugged. "No idea. Don't remember."

"Uh, yeah." He paused, then grinned, "Guess I put my foot in it, didn't I? Sorry ..."

"Mai pen rai! No matter," smiled.

"Hey, have a chair," Wills reached down to pull out the plastic seat - offering repose as apology. "Less you're in a hurry to go somewhere."

"No rush," agreed, taking chair. "Not dressed up," gestured at bathrobe and slippers, "no place to go. How's stomach?"

Wills half-smiled, half-grimaced. "Better ... I guess. They've got me on antibiotics and pabulum - least it tastes like babyfood. Should be able to go home in a day or so - I thought for a while they were going to operate - excise part of the ulcerated tissue. Now the doctor says maybe not ... but I'll have to keep a bland diet until everything heals."

"What would you like?"

"Hamburger with everything!" The response was emphatic and immediate! "Extra fries, black coffee! Hot dog with chili and onions!" - pause - "You want the whole list?"

"No ... Guess not."

"I shouldn't really complain," Wills offered. "Had toast and jelly this morning. That was something anyway. You a reader? Uh, sorry, I mean ..."

"It's okay. Reader? Hadn't thought about it. Don't really have anything ..."

"You like mysteries? I mean, would you like to try some?" Wills turned to reach for a stack of paperbacks. "Got a bunch here I've finished. How 'bout some Sara Paretsky? Female PI but good plots. Or Dick Francis - English racing backgrounds, man used to be a jockey but his plots are great if you don't mind how his heroes are always getting banged up." Wills held out a copy of 'Wild Horses'.

Took the book, grateful. Could see how time could hang heavy.

"You read a lot then."

"All the time," Wills was animated in his agreement. "Love mysteries, all kinds. I've thought about trying to write one sometime but ..."

"Why not?"

"Why? Who'd want to read about an accountant? Mysteries in the ledgers, clues in the numbers? Naw, they'd put people to sleep." Wills paused, as if he were trying to think what to say next. "That's what bothered me yesterday. Here you are - shot in the head, waking up with no memory - now that's a mystery. Who shot you? Who are you? Why?

"Or take Captain Donavi ... he's been everywhere, seen everything ... has thousands of stories to tell - he could write a mystery.

"Me? I just sit at a desk staring at a computer for eight, ten hours a day. Nice desk, sure. Corner office, carpet on the floor, my name on the door - like the ads used to say. Tell you a secret - when I get tired of looking at numbers, I can swivel my leather office chair and look out at the Bay ... and wish to hell I was on a ship headed anywhere. Some tramp steamer bound for places no-one's ever heard of - someplace where they don't take American Express and ... and they've never heard of ulcers from staring at a computer screen and worrying about other people's money.

"And then," he paused again, "you shake hands with me and ask me if I'm a CPA - right out of the blue. How'd you do it, anyway?"

"Not sure," thought for a moment. "Your hands? Fingertips? Lot of time typing on a keyboard. Faint calluses on side of your thumbs. Expensive bathrobe and slippers. Manicured fingernails. Glasses, expensive frames. Wondered why not private room. Decided not management, CPA seemed likely. Took a guess." Shrugged. Didn't mention Wills was carrying chairs for Captain Donavi - not an executive attitude. Mostly guesswork anyway.

"Funny," Wills thought a moment. "You put it like that ... kind of like Sherlock Holmes, real simple when you explain but who notices things like that. Hey, I could have been an ad man or something - why CPA? - no, don't tell me. Just a second ..." he thought again, then, "Too conservative, right?"

Nodded, that was part of it.

"Yeah, plain old Dan Wills - CPA. So, I read mysteries - live vicariously through fiction." He grimaced again.

"Family?" Wanted to change the subject, something more pleasant for him ... hoped so, anyway.

"Two kids - both grown and moved away," Wills explained. "Didn't even bother to tell them I was going to the hospital. They've got their own lives to live."

"Wife?"

"Left me several years ago. She thought I was boring too. She's running a florist shop down in Santa Barbara. Talk about boring! ... Sorry. I mean, if you like flowers, I suppose ..."

Shrugged again. "Don't know. Does sound kind of dull ..."

"Excuse me, ah, Mr. Tambeau?"

Looked up. Floor nurse was looking at a clipboard.

"Did you remember ..?" she was hesitant. "Someone's penciled 'Alex Tambeau' on your chart."

"Er, we christened him," Wills explained. "Couldn't just keep calling him John Doe ... and #23 didn't seem appropriate - so, meet Alex Tambeau."

Stood up, offered a nod, admitting to the new cognomen.

"Very well, Mr. Tambeau," the nurse smiled. "If you'll return to your bed, the doctor will be making her rounds shortly. Do you need a hand?"

"No, can walk." Slowly, true, but the legs were working better.

"You missed one item," Wills offered before had gone very far.

"Oh?" Had probably missed several.

"I had a private room first day here. It was too boring. Then I met George in the hall and got to talking so I asked them to move me."

"Like it better?"

"Damn straight! At least here I won't die of boredom. Better get back to your bed, some of the nurses are real sticklers. And, hey ..."

Looked a question.

"When you finish that - or if you don't like it - I've got plenty of others."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Any memories come back?" Dr. Patel asked. "Note says you spent most of the night sitting meditation. Are you a yogi? How are you feeling?"

Thought about the questions for a moment. "Lots of memories. No name, nothing ... all remote. Places, people, that kind of thing. Woke up - don't know what time - sat zazen ... you know? Not yogi," grinned, "Yagi" - meaning bad-tempered - "sometimes. Feeling okay ... weak still."

"I've scheduled you for some tests," Dr. Patel continued, making a note. "If you're up to them. If you get too tired, just say so and they'll reschedule the rest, okay? Oh, the detective ..." she searched through the notes.

"Detective Lieutenant Grayson?"

"Yes. I told him he could come by during visiting hours. He said he had some more questions. If you find you're too tired, just tell the duty nurse or one of the orderlies. Okay?"

Nodded agreement, waited. There was something more.

Dr. Patel cocked her head, holding the clipboard with her arms crossed. "I'm pleased you've recovered," she finally spoke. "Dr. Norfeld would like to speak with you later - neurosurgery, he operated on your wounds when you were brought in."

"Would be pleased to thank him."

"Yes, certainly," there was more. "Would you mind ..." she hesitated again, then finished, "We'd like to videotape some of your tests and interviews - Dr. Norfeld is interested in documenting your recovery. For the medical journals."

Shrugged. "Why not."

"Because you'll need to sign a consent form and ..."

"And no name is problem?"

"Oh, that's right," she realized. "You don't ... Uh, let me check with someone. I hadn't thought about that." Dr. Patel turned, shaking her head

"Will practice signature," offered, reaching for pad on table - and pen from mortuary - to scrawl a rough 'Alex J. Tambeau'. Didn't look very smooth, hand wanted to write something ... relaxed for a moment, looked away to let hand write without looking.

Result looked like signature - but couldn't read it. Just a scrawl.

Tried again - same result. Recognizably same signature but ...

Realized something - had reached for pen with right hand, not left. Medical report had said marks of wristwatch on right wrist - usually mean left-handed, not right-handed. Why?

Tried writing left-handed. Felt awkward, couldn't hold pen, managed bad scrawl but nothing even vaguely legible. Definitely right-handed.

* * *

A few tests? More like dozens. With head hooked up to wires, answered question after question ... but couldn't answer all.

First was a lot of general questions - how felt, how slept, appetite, things like that ... routine mostly.

Then hooked up to machine - little tabs on chest, neck, forehead, cuff on arm - all hooked to some kind of recorder.

"What I'd like to you do," the attendant instructed, "is to listen to a series of words and to answer each with the first word that pops into your mind. There are no right or wrong answers and you don't need to puzzle over these. Just answer with the first thing that you think of. Okay?"

* * *

"black" "white"

"I" "lid"

"here" "there"

"me" "you"

"name" ... silence ...

"banana" "papaya"

"tree" "forest"

"fish" "hungry"

* * *

Next examiner offered coffee, then produced a series of printed questions to answer. This was more entertaining - questions weren't simple or obvious, needed thought - like puzzles that had to be figured out. Some with numbers, some with words, some with pictures. Kind of fun, sneaky answers. Something familiar about the pattern but wasn't sure what. Didn't remember anything exactly like this.

Finished questions, took restroom break and had more coffee. Tried to ignore camera.

Then another examiner with puzzle blocks, wire puzzles that had to be taken apart or put together. Fun but more thinking than dexterity. No wires and tabs this time. Instead, a knit cap with lots of little lumps and a thick cable coming out the back.

"How are you feeling now," the examiner was removing the cap, tucking the cable inside the machine.

"Tired, little hungry. Eyes are tired." Tried to rub eyes, hands kept wanting to reach for glasses to remove them first. Body memories?

"Hum," the attendant was examining the ubiquitous clipboard, "It looks like you're down for an optical exam after lunch. Maybe you'd better rest for a little while. Shall I have someone wheel you back to the ward?"

"Thanks. Can walk."

* * *

Back at ward, wished had asked for wheelchair.

Cranked bed up to sitting position, opened "Wild Horses" and read. Eyes didn't seem bothered by reading.

Tried stretching legs - uncomfortable after a few minutes. Settled for sitting lotus position. Felt better. Went back to tribulations of movie maker.

* * *

Lunch was welcome. Not great but still good.

Plot in "Wild Horses" seemed familiar but enjoyed reading it anyway. Started noticing literary tricks ... the way Francis described characters and the way he planted clues with careful misdirection - so readers wouldn't pay special attention but would recognize the clues later when they were pointed out. Wills was right, Francis was good at plotting. He also had a penchant for having his protagonists get injured a lot.

Under the circumstances, could sympathize.

* * *

Optician diagnosed slight astigmatism, some myopia. Promised glasses would be ready tomorrow.

* * *

"Mr. Tambeau?"

Looked up. Young man - stained hospital greens, long hair tucked under a scrub cap, surgical mask loose around neck - looked tired, holding out a hand. Nails were clipped short, skin chapped. Took hand, grip was firm without being forceful.

"They told me you were up. Last night when I came in. Sorry I haven't been by sooner. How are you feeling?"

"Dr. Norfeld?"

"Oh, sure, sorry. Should have introduced myself. Franklin Norfeld. Mind if I sit?"

"Please." Dog-eared Dick Francis and set him aside. "Understand owe you thanks. Read reports - didn't understand all of them. You look tired."

"Long shift." He stretched his legs, twisting them together. "Had a cerebral hematoma. Don't know ... Sometimes I wonder why." He shook himself, then continued, "But, hey, that's why I came by. Really wanted to see you in person - awake, I mean. Uh, hope you don't mind my mentioning it, but I really didn't think you were going to make it. Don't get me wrong - I'm really glad to see you awake - just I'm ... well ... surprised. Pleased as well. 'Specially after ..."

"Bad morning?"

"May be all right ... Not your problem though. I'm told you've suffered profound memory loss. Any motor impairment? Speech problems? Vision? Odd sensations?"

"Starting where?"

"Sorry, start anywhere - just general."

"Mild headaches - need glasses. Weak muscles. Memory ... don't know. Don't know what's missing - guess that's the problem. Speech seems okay. No odd sensations - but don't know what would be odd. Elephants are supposed to be pink, aren't they?"

Smiled while the young surgeon did a quick double-take.

"Like green ones myself," he grinned back. "Thanks, maybe I needed that. Need some sleep, too - before the next batch of casualties show up." He stretched again. "Life of a surgical resident's like that. Uh, look, this isn't really kosher but, if you don't mind, I'd like to follow your recovery. Write it up for the journals and all."

"Dr. Patel mentioned you'd like video tapes."

"Uh, yeah, I thought they'd give me a chance - later - to observe second-hand what I don't have time to watch in person. You mind?"

"Not at all. Feel free."

"Gee, thanks. I mean, your name - if you remember your name, that is - won't be used. Usual thing."

"No problem, please, tape all you like."

"One other thing, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Owe you."

"Uh, yeah, thanks - anyway, if you wouldn't mind keeping a log. Nothing fancy, just notes on anything odd you experience. Problems, sensations, that kind of thing?"

"Okay, can try."

"Uh, you suffered a pretty massive trauma, you know? Massive concussion, a lot of tissue damage ... you don't mind my talking about it, do you?"

"No problem." Wasn't problem - like hearing something that happened far away to someone else. Wasn't personal at all.

* * *

Everything Dr. Norfeld described - he preferred being called Frank - had sounded remote and second-hand ... something that had happened to a stranger. Partly it was his clinical terminology. Even the questions were clinical, impersonal.

Suspected it must be a device used by medical personnel to keep from becoming too involved. Could understand that - felt remote from inside too ... everything felt remote.

Promised to keep notes, said would sign forms ... either signature - new or old - or both and suggested Frank get some rest. Could talk later. Besides, Caesar was waiting with wheelchair for more tests. This time, didn't insist on walking.

* * *

"I'm Marjorie Carstairs," the lady introduced herself. "I understand you've decided to go by Alexander Tambeau?" Pleasant lady, medium height, medium weight, fiftyish, dressed in a comfortable pants suit, comfortable flats, gray-brown hair, medium length, curly, nice simile, bad habit of chewing on her glasses stems, maybe had given up cigarettes?

"Alex, not Alexander. Not that it matters." Was seated in comfortable room with broad window looking over gardens. Lots of plants in room, indirect lighting, two comfortable chairs, couch against wall beside window, vertical blinds to control lighting. Small cabinet in corner with coffee machine, water carafe, disposable cups and glasses. Nothing remarkable about the room except for the careful neutrality of everything - nothing to cause any particular reactions at all.

Accepted chair, folded legs, relaxed.

Ms Carstairs took the opposite chair, sitting in a position where she could face the couch as well. Had assumed - from the small writing table next to the chair - that was for interviewer. Also, was the only chair with it's back to the window - better view of patient and placed interviewer in partial shadow.

"Doctor Patel has asked me to see if we can find any memories that would provide a clue to your identity. We can do this several ways. We could just talk and see what comes up. Would you prefer that?"

"If you wish ..."

"You sound hesitant. Is there a reason?"

"No, just that you seem to have other options to suggest." Had no reason but she had said "several ways".

"Are you familiar with hypnosis?"

"Theory ... directed recall? Probing subconscious?"

Received short lecture on hypnosis - how therapist helps patient to hypnotize themselves, how sometimes subconscious will respond when conscious mind is blocking something, more like that. Finally, "Have you ever been hypnotized before, Alex?"

"Don't know." It was an answer that seemed to be using a lot lately.

Ms Carstairs circled the subject a bit more - assumed was a technique intended to reassure patient - then asked if comfortable or if would prefer to stretch out on couch.

"Perfectly comfortable here," shrugged, spread arms to rest hands on knees.

* * *

Hard to remember what followed - details weren't clear - Ms Carstairs started talking, offering suggestions, images. Relaxed, let go of everything, listened.

Later, remembered a few fragments ...

Q: What is your wife's name?

A: Don't know.

Q: Were you born in this country?

A: Yes. Answer was complete surprise - had intended to say 'Don't know'.

Q: Why did you say 'yes'?

A: Don't know.

Q: When were you born?

A: Yesterday. Another surprise ... hadn't intended to say that.

Q: Why did you answer 'yesterday'?

A: Don't know.

Answered a lot more questions like that - a lot with 'Don't know' - but no more surprises. Least nothing remembered.

Felt rested, comfortable, afterwards. Seemed like not much time had passed but was nearly dinner time - of course, hospitals serve dinner early but still seemed like missing time.

Felt well enough anyway to walk back to ward. Felt hungry, too.

* * *

"Lieutenant Grayson," nodded. "Please, have a seat."

Grayson pulled out the plastic chair and sat, crossing his legs. No tape recorder this time. "How are you?" he asked. "Any progress?"

"Meaning any memories? Nothing helpful, sorry. You?"

"Just dropped by on my way home. Really nothing to tell you. I just thought you might have remembered something."

"Sorry. Could offer you coffee if you'd like."

"Only thing worse than station house coffee," he smiled, "is hospital coffee. Thanks but no. Desk tells me you've decided to call yourself Alex Jason Tambeau - you mentioned an Alex Tambeau, yesterday. Is that your real name?"

Shrugged. "Guess it's good as any."

Wry smile. "Suppose so. Ran a check on Alex Tambeau."

"Anything?"

"Not listed with missing persons, nothing in the phone books, no computer records. Where'd the name come from, anyway?"

"No wants or warrants?" Returned smile. "Capt'n Donavi suggested Jason - Greek hero - seemed a little pretentious. Remembered Alex Tambeau, needed name - figured it was good enough. Doesn't feel familiar though. Suppose have to get used to it."

"No, nothing to arrest an Alex Tambeau for," Grayson agreed. "I just wondered why that one popped out. All the other names you mentioned were headliners of one sort or another. Then you come up with one that's a complete blank. Kind of strange if you think about it."

"Everything's strange," shrugged again. "Sorry."

"Well," Lieutenant Grayson got to his feet. "Guess I'll be seeing you some other time. You have my number? In case you think of anything?"

"No."

"That's funny, yesterday ..."

"Knew your name?"

"That's right. We hadn't been introduced or anything ..."

"Note in hospital files. Said to notify Lieutenant Grayson, SFPD, if any change in John Doe #23. Simple."

"I see. Pretty sharp for a man who can't remember anything." The Lieutenant was holding the back of the chair with one hand, rubbing the thumb of his free hand against the index finger, looking thoughtful, considering.

"Didn't say was dumb, just can't remember anything. Question for you."

"Oh?"

"Do the police have clothes? Can get them back?" Had nothing ... and hospital gown was drafty in back.

"Your clothes? You mean your personal effects? No. I don't think so. Hospital should have them. The lab checked the blood stains but they were all yours. Looked for fibers, stuff like that but ..." He released the chair, taking two long steps to the locker standing beyond the bedside table. "Probably in here," he suggested, reaching for the handle. "Locked. Didn't anyone give you a key?"

"No."

"Ask the duty nurse then. Should be a key somewhere. I guess since you were comatose they put it away somewhere. Look, if your stuff's not in the locker, give me a ring and I'll check. Here's my card. Okay?"

"Sure, and thanks." Took card and tucked it beside the bath kit in the bedside table drawer - next to "Wild Horses."

"No problem. Hey, if I don't hear from you, I'll talk to you in a few days. Oh, yeah, when they take the bandages off?"

"Yes?"

"Call me and let me know. I'll have a photographer come by and we'll circulate your photo. Maybe it will ring a bell with someone somewhere."

* * *

The key, the duty nurse reported, had been in an envelope at the nursing station. "Sorry about that," he offered. "Someone should have thought about it. Guess I should have, for that matter. Since I was on duty when they moved you out of intensive care. I mean, I'm the one who hung your stuff - I'd forgotten that until I saw my signature on the inventory form." He turned the key in the lock, opening the cabinet, then passed the key on an elastic band. "Slip this around your wrist," he suggested. "Afraid the clothes are in pretty bad shape. They've been through the laundry but blood stains are hard to remove - there are enzyme treatments that get most of it but ..."

He was right. The shirt was clean ... but hardly spotless. Socks and underwear looked okay. Slacks had looked better but would pass. The leather belt was okay. No shoes. Plastic bag with copy of inventory list ... nothing else on it except a case number ... and Lieutenant Grayson name as the officer to contact.

It was a very meager fortune.

No wallet. No personal effects like a pen or a pocket knife. No wristwatch. No glasses. As blank as memories. Key ring, compass and conical weight matched description on property report - not much use since didn't know where locks were ... and didn't need to know north.

"Pretty sparce," came from behind. Looked around. George was leaning on end of bed frame.

"Not going anywhere anyway," smiled. "How you feeling?"

"Not so bad," George grinned. "They actually gave me something I could chew on for supper tonight. Must be getting better if they're letting me have solid foods. Heard you were getting the run around all day. Did you have fun?"

"Interesting. Don't know that it helped any."

"Keri - my youngest - was by for a visit earlier. Tell me what sizes you wear, I'll call and see if she can't rustle you up something. Pretty skimpy wardrobe."

"Don't know sizes," started to reply, then changed it to, "Yeah, brilliant. Can always look." Reached for the shirt first, label said 'Chu' and 'L' - had to mean large. Pants were easier - badly faded tag said 34x32 - waist and inseam. Label on briefs said 34 as well. "Don't know shoe size. Think hospital has ... whatever they use to measure feet?"

"I used to see ads in magazines for shoes," George offered. "You were suppose to trace your foot on a sheet of paper and send that in for size. Could try that."

Grinned at the thought but it made sense. Still, note pad on table was too small. Have to find larger paper. Toenails needed cutting too. So did beard for that matter. Wondered if hospital would have pair of scissors for trim.

* * *

In the middle of another pinochle game - George, Capt'n Donavi and Wills gathered to play, several kibitzers as well - when George's visitors appeared.

Introduced to daughter, Keri, and to wife, Anne-Marie. Daughter was early twenties, youthfully attractive, dressed in colorful mod - was mod still current term? Couldn't remember - clothing. Swirl of gloss and color, kissing her father's cheek affectionately.

Anne-Marie was slim woman, darker than husband, gray hair in tight, short-trimmed cap and a smile that made her beautiful. George was lucky man - could see by how they greeted each other. George trying to move too quickly and trying to stand tall despite discomfort, Anne-Marie stepping in quickly to support him, embracing without embarrassment, without acknowledging others.

After a long moment, they broke, then arms around each other, turned to face the rest of us.

George made introductions, beginning with Anne-Marie.

"Enchenté, mam'selle," accepted offered hand and bowed slightly..

Her response was a burst of musical French, lovely to listen too but didn't understand a word.

"Sorry but no parle Fransais," apologized.

"More Creole than French, I'm afraid," she corrected. "George told us about how you woke up yesterday. How are you doing?"

"We were just discussing the state of Alex's wardrobe," George answered for me. Not entirely truthful - actual conversation had been the universality of Arabic robes - Captain Donavi's contribution. "Don't you think we might be able to scare up something to fit him?"

* * *

When pinochle game resumed - one of the kibitzers took George's place while he accompanied his wife and daughter to the cafeteria - in wheelchair - had been offered clothes and shoes, a proper trim for the beard - Captain Donavi again, citing lack of barbershops at sea as credentials - and varied assistance when was ready to leave hospital. Surprised partially, pleased thoroughly - hadn't really thought that far. Certainly couldn't stay in hospital indefinitely - but had had too much else to think about. And too little to remember.

Would have to think about future. Hard to imagine future though - not when past less than two days long.

Later, surrendered place in pinochle game to two more kibitzers and joined Captain Donavi in tivoli game. Seemed familiar - must have played before - but lost first two games badly. Did better on third, remembered some strategy but still lost. Tivoli wasn't an easy game to master.

Finally, time for lights out. Declined sleeping pill - not sure why, just didn't like idea.