The Baron is attempting to face his cruel reality.
And there I sat, drowning in a sea of absurd relics from a forgotten decade, wondering who and where I was. What now? What’s next? This was the waiting room from hell. I felt like I should take a number and wait for the nurse to call my God damn name. That is, if anybody even know what my name was. I needed a fucking miracle, but I would settle for some aspirin and a cold beer. On the cosmic scale, I figured this wasn’t too much to ask.
If I truly was stuck here, starvation and thirst would have my ass in less than a week. Extensive searching has turned up no food or water. In all honesty, I wasn’t about to chew on a leather bean bag for sustenance any more than I would cook and eat my own limbs. It went without saying that food and water shot to the top of my list of priorities.
With my headache still bashing my skull apart like a lumberjack hacking away at a sapling with unnecessary force, panic began to creep back into the picture. Normally, when a person is thrown into a completely unfamiliar time and place with a foaming brain and no memory of anything other than indescribable pain, the tendency is to panic and struggle to understand what is going on. Despite this alarming truth, I just felt like taking a nap; I collapsed into a pile of bean bag chairs and passed out. To tell the truth, I prefer naps to panic.