You’re at a Natalie Merchant concert, smack dab in the middle of a moshe pit. Things start getting a little heavy and you get knocked to the ground, unconscious. When you come to you’re at the hospital, and there are flowers there with a card. You read the card, it’s from Natalie Merchant.
“ProfLoki, thanks for being a fan. - Natalie”
You can’t believe it. Natalie Merchant just wrote you a personalized letter. Your phone rings. You don’t answer, because the autographed poster of Natalie Merchant on your phone background has a different signature than the signature on your card. Turns out it was her manager that sent you the flowers and the note. Natalie didn’t even know about it.
Months go by. You’re spiraling. Natalie’s fan page won’t answer your emails. You just want answers. Your family left you. You’ve become obsessive. You missed the birth of your first child. Your attorney says you’re lucky to have any visitation rights at all. “He’s supposed to be on my side,” you think. But he called you a lost cause, none-the-less.
You wake up. 20 years have past. Natalie Merchant still doesn’t know who you are. You wasted your life away.
What’s your favorite number?