A man walks through the deserted prairie of Oklahoma. He knows he is missing something, but he can't quite figure out what it is. Suddenly, in a moment of breakthrough, he realizes he has no memories left. Who is he? Why is he in the middle of nowhere? He finds a gas station and tries to call the one number that he remembers and gets an answering machine to "The Land of Debris and Home of Alfredo." Progressing through the most ludicrous of situations, the man finds himself in such places as New Mexico, Mexico City, Oregon, Las Vegas, Lousiana, and Kansas. The man is the accomplice to drug trades, casino scams, police cover-ups, and voodoo ceremonies by total default.
I found the book to be enthralling, but not super coherent. It was just plausible enough to keep a story and yet it somehow kept me reading it. It was laced with drug references and innuendo, but it still keeps its main objective in sight: to find out the identity of the protagonist. Its storytelling was superb, and I found it digging deep into me and finding the vagabond hidden in my personality. The book built up to a fantastic ending, but it left me with nothing. I really hated the ending, but the incredible body of the book almost totally made up for the overly demure ending.