The second driver went through my wallet, took what little cash I had, put my ID into my breast pocket, and tossed the rest down the sewer. I laid on a table for quite some time. Now I'm inside of a big filing cabinet. Occasionally someone will open the door, slide me out, pull back the sheet, look at me, shake their head sadly, and put me back. Nobody seems to notice that one of my eyes is always open just a hair, even though they pull them shut each time they come to scrutinize me.
Nothing happens in the meantime.
I relive my past events one by one. I fantasize and pine over lost chances and bygones. Darkness is my only visitor. Time is gone elsewhere and left me, marooned and parched. Someone takes me out of the sliding box and puts me on a stretcher.