This is my autobiography. If you want to call it that. I drink too much coffee. Too much scotch. Smoke entirely too much. I'm not anyone important. Not anyone you'd remember. But I'm not crazy. It's important that you understand that, because I'm not sure I do.I haven't seen my bathroom in seven months. Just the bathroom. The inside of my arm never stops itching. I can't keep any mirrors, Mary won't let me. Mary's mad at me, you see. Something about a promise. Except, I can't remember what it was I promised. If I could remember, maybe she'd leave me alone. And then I could go back to just being nobody. Getting nowhere. Living this dead end life. That'd be nice.My name is unimportant. I'm nobody. A liar. This is my autobiography. Some of it is even true.