of smudged sparkles and exhaustion

he wouldn’t remember the subway trip to the hospital. He wouldn’t remember rubbing at the leftover sparkly show makeup on his face, or staring at his blurry reflection in the dark window and seeing Keith instead. He wouldn’t even remember running from the subway station to the hospital, or into the cold hospital lobby, or up the stairs to the fourth floor when the elevator wasn’t fast enough. He wouldn’t even recall what he said to the nurses who looked at him warily when he arrived in makeup and jeans. Mike didn’t remember anything up to the moment that he found himself in front of a nondescript door, marked with the number 417.