My name is Mike Battaglia. One of the people living inside of me is a writer. I resided in room 331 at the Danforth State Mental Hospital for five years. It's likely you won't believe the things that follow. I know I sure as hell wouldn't. And for all I know I really am insane, and everything I saw and heard was merely a figment of my disturbed imagination. But what is real, anyway? Go on then, define it for me. Real is something that exists? How do we know what exists except based on what we see, hear, feel, smell, or worse yet, what we are told? Our perception of reality is based on how our mind interprets what our senses pick up. The sky is blue, the grass is green. But are they? A dog is colour blind. To a dog, the sky and grass are shades of grey. That's a dog's reality, and were a dog able to do so, it would swear upon these facts because that's how its mind interprets what it sees. What I heard and saw through the doors of that asylum changed everything I thought I knew, and the more I wandered the halls and eavesdropped, the more I realized that those on the outside were the ones who were truly insane.