He stopped running down alleyways after about an hour. He was in the middle of a bustling area filled with various inns, merchants, and --- based on the white, blue, pink, and green bags they were selling --- drug dealers. Throughout his comfortable night jog, he had heard many people calling each other things. These things, he believed, were "names". A moniker, a label even, given to individuals in order to separate them from one another. Some shared the same ones, but for the most part they were unique individuals.
Except John and James. They were not unique individuals.
I lack a name, he thought to himself. He knew that he had been using what is known as a pronoun to refer to himself, and that worked fine, but he did not have his own, unique name. He was certain that, at one point, this body of his had a name... or at least, a label. But no longer. He was no longer that person. He was now a newer version of that person, although nobody else would realize that.
And it was confusing. So. Very. Confusing.
He had a constant headache now, and was thinking in both the past and the present. Who he had been, and who he now was. The most confusing thing is, he had been two different entities, and now he was only one. Or was he two entities? No, no... he was only one.
I killed the other one, he thought to himself. That's right... he'd taken the other one's life, so that he may live.
At this point, he was standing on the street, just pondering. People were staring at him, and before he knew it, lotsa people were staring at him. So he put his head down and entered a seedy looking bar.