The needle hits the wax.

A man and a woman dance in a house you've never been in. You don't know their names. You don't know yours.

It's a painting of a door.

All you have is a piece of scrap paper in your pocket. It is warm. The handwriting is yours. It says —

Watch Them.

Six houses on the same street. Six couples. Six dances. The same song. The man in the second house refills his drink at the same moment as the man in the fifth.

They are waiting for you to blink.

She forgets what she was about to say. He forgets where he put his keys. You forget which house is yours.

You used to be able to sleep this off. You don't remember yesterday.

You can't remember if you ate today. The plates in the sink say you did.

You catch your reflection. It's still smiling. You aren't.

You write yourself notes. You don't remember writing them.

The Toll

The music skips.

The pattern breaks.

The script says it was you.