Back when I was someone else, I was born in that place, to a woman I still haven’t met, with a name that I still haven’t heard, knowing only the last initial as A, otherwise named Duncan Warren Andrew. What could it be? With my father apparently not on my birth certificate, I can only presume that the mysterious A. belonged to her, but I have yet to find out.
I used to walk by the Grace Hospital sometimes and wonder, what room was I born in, what floor? Were there records inside that would tell me, and if so, how could I get them? And then the whole building torn down and left open, a pit in the ground, before this new structure built.
And how do I manage to live, after my Glengarry years, bare a mile from the spot I was born?