My face was blank, devoid of expression. And on my forehead, in letters that seemed to shift and writhe like a living thing, was written: " Anonymous".
But as I turned to go back, the shop was gone. The alleyway was empty, save for a small piece of paper on the ground. On it, a message was scrawled in faint handwriting: inside no. 9
"The memories you buy are not always the ones you sell." My face was blank, devoid of expression