We were there and they were there, and at this point we weren't totally sure who was where. And we weren't sure in what direction they were moving...  We admitted to being there... or were we admitted? Either way, the place was very white and very cold... except for outside, where it was very warm. It was very clinical no matter if you were inside or out. We were both inside out, Mico and I. He was and I were. We both did, believe me.  Anyway, we got there with flashlights. I don't know why we had flashlights. I don't know if they let us check in with them. I think I had to hide them in our pants, Mico and I. I have an eye for detail like that, and both of us do. Either way, no one noticed. Except for the officer that was bringing us there... or was he chasing us off? What had we come for, drugs? Were we crazy to be scaling the walls of a place like that, FROM THE OUTSIDE?  I remember the yard, with its tennis courts... full, but vacant like a wasteland. This was our ghost town and we were the Lithium cowboys staking a claim on the cache of self-help tapes we had just found in the trash heap. The razor wire was there, and so were the high curved bars... just like rats in a cage. Or was it rats outside of their cage? Or was in butterflies in nets? Or was it networks of neurons and incorrectly functioning brain cells? Were we in our cell? Where were we going, I keep forgetting...   But I remember. I remember the vast hallways that echoed like a bad dream. I remember the maze-like corridors, and the rooms full of medical devices. The devices we used to try to jimmie the recreation yard gate were primitive... sticks and keys. The key to the whole puzzle was to be silent and move quickly... trying one door after the next.    the next the next the next the next the next the next  The next room had piles of computer equipment. The next had a bed that looked like a web made from leather straps, where they tied you down if you resisted. The next had broken chairs, where broken people once gave broken advice to other broken people. The next had books...piles and piles of books. We were in one of them... the one with no ending and 17 pages missing out of the center. That was us. That was me. I was us, and so was he. Mico was my shadow... Mico was a 40-pound lighter version of me. I saw the same things he would see. Sometimes he would tell me about them, sometimes I would tell me about them. Sometimes I would tell him. Sometimes I would remember.  I remember the kitchen with it's chrome wonderland, and the medical records room which was always locked. Everything was always locked. We were always locked... up. Down. Everywhere you turned, there was a lock. The lock on the fire escape never stopped us though.  I remember the broken bottles of pills and the prescription pads. I remember the oxygen tanks and the phonebooks. I remember the lab results and the ashtrays. I remember the torn carpet and the overgrown grass. I remember the rust and decay. But most of all, I remember the smell... I remember the smell... The smell was the most clinical smell I have ever smelled... it was half hospital and half jail. It was like runny eggs mixed with a punch in the gut. It was a doctor's office with handcuffs. It was a blood test and a fingerprint and a small white tablet with a microchip in it. Or in my case, a Mico chip. They tricked me into taking it and he was in my mind and I was in his, and he didn't mind. Everything was fine...  ...for five minutes. Then I forgot where I was. I forgot what I was doing. I forgot what wewere doing. I forgot what he was doing. He forgot me as well.    QUIET PLEASE the sign said. I agreed... quiet is quite pleasing, especially when you're hiding from cops on a rooftop. A rooftop with pigeons and pipes and buckets of tar that make nice little makeshift chairs around midnight. A rooftop that exposes you to the police helicopter like a buck naked fat man on national TV. We were there, Mico and I.  I found out later that he said I cracked. I tried to clear my name. I tried to clear my throat. We were both cracked, if you ask me. That's how we got there in the first place. Now we were trying to leave, and they wanted to keep us there. For the record, I never cracked... I just explained to Mico our options...  1. Wait it out, unless the helicopter came... in which case, we were sitting ducks...or sitting and ducking to avoid the sweeping spotlights combing the trees and rooftops.  2. Throw down our flashlights and negotiate. After all, we could talk a good talk, I could. We would have to leave our take behind either way... we didn't need anything slowing us down when we made our break.  We had broken years ago, and now our plan had done the same. But we couldn't remember what the plan was anyway, so it wouldn't have mattered. What mattered was the ladder... the ladder, and the fire escape, and the street, and the white car parked on the corner.  We were there and they were there, and at this point we weren't totally sure who was where. And we weren't sure in what direction they were moving.  There was movement, however. Movement on the ground, the roof, in the eye, the mind, the hands... leaving the phone off the hook, leaving the tapes on the roof. There was a light in the distance and an increasing hum... there were heartbeats like drums...there was a thumbs up and a shuffle of feet. Defeat was left behind shining his light up into the treetops... looking for someone to stop and answer his questions. My first impression was to run. Mico agreed. He remembered me.  We admitted to being there, but we had no problem leaving. We walked through the front door, leaving the tapes behind. Leaving it all behind... the walls and the floors and the door and the sound and the smell. All was well as Mico turned the key and looked over at me. The car started. We remembered.