Surreal, isn't it. First memory like a shot in the vein. Four long years of youth sliding cold silver glint into waiting blue. This is the voice of a reformed junkie, a voice we will encounter again in other stories. Whether or not it is the voice of the same character is difficult to discern and, we come to see, beside the point.
Characters appear and disappear within a page or two.
The narrator, if and when one exists, generally acts as more of a ventriloquist than a conventional storyteller. Story form itself becomes a metaphor for the multiple-personality disorders of capitalist democracy.