[ WP ] Write a story beginning with : `` Are you buying that or what ? ''

“ Are you buying that or what? ” a guy in a grey knit sweater and tiny wire framed glasses said to Daniel before he could take stock of where he was. He instinctively covered his crotch, thinking he was naked. The last thing he remembered, he was standing in the shower, his head full of lather, singing at the top of his lungs. Now he looked up and Daniel found himself holding a thick paperback, standing over a shelf of clearance priced books. 
 
 “ Sorry, ” the spectacled attendant went on “ We ’ re about to close up here. If you could just take it up to the counter, they ’ ll be happy to ring you up. ” 
 
 As far as Daniel knew, he had never been in this bookstore before. He had no recollection of having come here. The shower must have been a false awakening, he decided. He must still be dreaming. Of course, that thought alone was usually was enough to wake him up. He focused and tried to bring himself back to consciousness. It didn ’ t work. He would have to deal with the situation at hand. 
 
 Looking down at the page his index finger held in the book, he saw “ Six thirty a.m. Daniel stood under the torrents of hot water, singing in an off-key tenor as he planned the conversation he would have with his boss later that day. ” 
 
 “ What in the hell? ” said Daniel out loud, in a surprisingly deep voice that caught him off gaurd. He remembered that he was going to be late to work if he didn ’ t leave home soon. If he was late for the meeting with his boss, he could kiss that raise goodbye. He reached down and pinched his leg. He felt solidity, pain, but no awakening. 
 
 Not knowing what else to do, he brought the book to the counter. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a black studded leather wallet he had never seen before. Was he a kleptomaniac now too? Reflexively, he opened it and looked at the credit cards and driver ’ s license. Dwight Walters, age 43, Madison, Wisconsin: a stocky man with thick wavy hair and a short beard. He reached up and stroked his chin, which was now covered in a much thicker layer of facial hair than he could have possibly grown in a single night. 
 
 “ Cash or credit? ” a young brunette asked politely from behind the counter, disrupting his confused reverie. 
 
 “ Um.. let ’ s see, ” he said. He felt like a thief. Maybe cash would be a less serious offense. He pulled out a twenty. 
 
 Leaving the store, if occurred to him that he had no idea where to go. He didn ’ t have his own keys or wallet, and he had no idea where this Dwight Walters guy would have parked, or even what type of car he might have. He noticed a phone in his other pocket. Maybe he could call someone, claim amnesia or something. It was a stretch, but it was all he could think of. 
 
 “ Passcode Required ” mocked the little illuminated screen. He rubbed his head in frustration. The last shoppers were filtering out of the mall. The lights for most of the shops were out and he knew he would be asked to leave soon. He would have to walk somewhere, find an ATM, maybe get a hotel, and try to figure something out. 
 
 As he thought, he found himself paging through the book he had just bought. He came to the page where he had been showering and read on. 
 
 The next paragraph began, “ “ Are you buying that or what? ” 

