The Italian marble in the lobby was real and the concierge with the silly moustache looked up at me with distain written all over his delicate cologne...drenched face.“Do you at least have a card, Mister Andrews?”I dug one out of my wallet, even though it was a bit dog-eared and had a spot of ketchup on one corner. The guy sniffed with contempt at my offering and pushed it onto a silver tray with one gloved hand like it might have some sort of foreign disease hidden in the ink. In all honesty, it. What was even more interesting was that I somehow recognized this woman's face. She seemed to be very familiar to me, like I've seen her somewhere or met her before. Could it be... Nah, it can't be. I'm hallucinating, right? I reached to touch my face and my hair, patting it and pulling at it to make sure it was just an optical illusion, or to make sure I was just wearing some sort of latex mask. The fact that I could feel my slender, delicate hands try to yank my face off, and the fact that. More

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