Man with No Face Says

Life demands to be lived. But, for the Man with No Face, only one question keeps the lights on in his crummy, dingy apartment. A single bulb dangling from the cracked ceiling illuminates his futile search. He pours over the contents of his broken life. If he had a mouth, he would surely cry out, 

"Where is the receipt from the cashier of my dreams who used to work at the Hardees down the street?!"

His anguished screams would echo through every alley, settling in forgotten corners with cats, dirt, pills, vomit, bottles, bums, bags, coats, ash, dirt, dust, and grime. 

A glossy piece of paper that oh-so-briefly touched the hands of that exquisitely jaded darling of the food service industry would mean everything to him. To have a link to that which does not make one "ick".

Well, looking for it means an awful lot too. Finding it actually probably wouldn't be all that great. Nor could a man with no face actually find anything. But, you do what you gotta do.