Stu let out a light chuckle. "Okay, Chuck, I know you went a bit off the deep end last night, but let's be serious here," Stu said. "Clearly you've still got some of that moon dust in your system. I'm sure your memories will come back sooner or later." He swiveled his chair to face his computer. He shook the mouse a bit, and his computer monitors lit up. On one monitor, it was black and filled with text of different colors. It looked like he had a text editor of some kind open, but I was a bit too far away to read what the text said. On the other monitor, there was another wall of text, but the background was white. Most of the text was black, but on the left margin most of the text was blue.
Stu made several swift motions on his keyboard and began typing. The other monitor loaded to a different wall of text, but at the top of the screen was a picture of what looked like moon dust. Stu sat there briefly and scanned through the page. I could tell that even though he was exhausted, his synapses were zapping quickly. His head swiveled to and fro in small and fast motions. After a brief pause, he swiveled his chair back around to face me.
"Well, according to Room of Mush, it looks like retrograde amnesia is a common side effect of the moon dust. These reports say that most people who ingest a high-concentrated dose have it for upwards of—" Stu swiveled his chair back around to face the monitor, referenced the text, and swiveled back around. "A few days. You should start getting your memories back by the middle of this week. Until then, maybe try to relax a little, Chuck."
"So what you're saying is that the memories will start to just—come back? How does that work?" I asked.
"I don't know, Chuck. I'm a programmer, not a neuroscientist," Stu responded. "Look, you'll figure this out. Just stay calm. You're one of the smartest guys I know, even if you have a drug problem."
I sat there and contemplated for a moment. "So, according to—what was it again? Room of Mush?"
"Oh, right, amnesia," Stu said. "It's a website where people talk about trip reports from all the psychedelics they take. You were the one who told me about it, funny enough. Guess the shoe's on the other foot now."
"I guess so," I said. "I wonder if I can maybe jog some memories back. That sounds like something that would work."
"Oh, that gives me an idea," Stu said. "Maybe you can use this as an opportunity to, I don't know, clean your fucking room. It's disgusting in there, Chuck, and I'm afraid your stink is gonna infest my room if you don't do something about it."
I took the cue and got up from Stu's bed. I headed to the door and opened it. I turned around and saw Stu immediately get back to that wall of colored text on the other monitor. His fingers glided across the keyboard. It was impressive how he could deflect me so well. Clearly he's had some practice. I thought of saying something on the way out, but thought better of it. I walked out of Stu's room and closed the door behind me. Immediately to my left, at the end of the hallway, there was a door that looked in similar condition to Stu's. White paint. Chipped wood. I figured that if it was anyone's room, it would be mine.
I turned the knob and opened the door. Immediately a wave of body odor hit my nose. For some strange reason, I couldn't believe that I let myself live like this. After fully opening the door, the bedroom I saw looked ransacked. There were dirty clothes scattered all over the floor. A large white mattress sat on top of a cheap wooden box spring. The mattress had a large brown stain on it. There was a white blanket laying lazily on top of the mattress, and I was afraid to touch it. There was a small plastic white set of drawers next to the mattress. I walked toward the closet and opened another chipped white door. It was empty save for a few loose articles of dirty clothes and what looked to be a deflated air mattress.
Incredibly, the mattress was supposed to be an upgrade.
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