“You don’t know how you got ‘ere? Huh, the only time I ever see this sorta thing happenin’ is the drunkards wakin’ up Sunday mornings,” the sailor says, tapping at his chin in thought.

Harley tilts her head in confusion and is just about to ask what the other meant when the sailor shakes his head.

“O’ never mind! Now what are you gonna do, little girl?”

“I have to get back home, sir! And find my Mama! Can you help me?”

“How am I supposed to help you? Where is your town?”

Her town? As in her home town?

Harley then realizes that…she doesn’t remember.

Where does she even live?

Next.