Thinking back, images flash across his mind as though on a worn projector, some scenes black with gaps, holes of his memories that no matter how hard he tries, they won't come back. Sometimes he blames it on the drugs, but when he's alone at night, when it really counts, he has nothing else to blame but himself and he knows it. He knows it's all his fault, somewhere in his mucked and mangled mind, yet, it's so much easier for him to push his faulty missjudges and guilty choices onto other people. It works for a short time, but as always, it comes back with a vengence, just as he knew it would.