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“I guess I’m May Cook,” you say to yourself, shaking off the weird feeling.
“I gotta go home.”
You do find your way home (with your mother, who only vaguely is familiar), and you go into your room to put the pieces together. Nothing you see seems to ring a bell...until you see a photo of you and who you think is your boyfriend. He seems familiar. Maybe he has answers.
“Come on...May...you gotta figure this shit out.”