He roused to a terrible pain erupting in his head. Pulsing from back to front like an unrelenting depth charge. He loosed an unsteadied sigh. Shifted palms against warm grittiness until they found purchase enough against the lopsided concrete to pry himself off the ground, elevate himself a couple feet above a spatter of spittle and blood. Shutting his eyes against the pain, the boy shifted slowly into a seated position as a gravel-strewn hand combed the back of his head for answers. Didn't take much time — the trace of his own fingernails along his scalp informed him of a swollen knot. He sighed.

Then he got to standing, for there was little else to discover by sitting on the ground and feeling sorry about how banged up he was. He took stock of himself once the landscape had done away with its subtle shifting; he was wearing leggings in a black-and-white checked pattern that transitioned to red near the ankles, a pair of black leather cowboy boots with beads and feathers adorning their leather ties, a double-breasted coat that had been yanked open, its buttons popped, and a couple of gaudy rings. He checked his pockets, but found them empty.

Looking around, he took stock of where he was. Some litter-strewn alleyway with crates stacked up on one side that held a pair of pallets sitting against a brick wall. Looked narrow enough to allow only the passage of a delivery van, and drowned out enough to be in some older part of the city.

But what city? Which city? His head ached yet more at the goad to recall. Wasn't like anyone was standing around and waiting with bated breath to give him answers, either. The alley sat empty, bereft of any sign of life but his own. The ache in his head only worsened, this time paired with an ache in his chest as well. But as he palmed his chest, he felt no pains rousing to his touch and no deformities to speak of.

He glanced skyward. Looked to be pre-dawn, or gloaming, he couldn't tell which. Hard to say if he'd find a clinic open at this hour, but it seemed as good a goal as any. Wasn't much else here for him, as it seemed like even the rats forsook the tawdry garbage spanning the alley.

Picking a direction, he started to walk. One foot after the other. As he walked, he caught the distant sound of a dog barking. Cars passing by, their unseen departure soughing across wet streets. Indistinct chatter. He followed it — followed all of it — for it all seemed to come from the same direction.

It felt good to move, even if he didn't know where he was going. He spared a look back at the unfamiliar alley, as if to study it, as if to immortalize it in his memory, and it left his sight for good.