A soft-cover notebook with badly curled edges, using a registration slip as a bookmark. The early entries recorded trivial matters: today's meals, the snoring from the next bed, what time his daughter visited. Halfway through, the handwriting suddenly became erratic: "Got bitten by a stray dog in the neighborhood. Skin wasn't broken, so I didn't think much of it." "Third day—the wound healed up fine, but I started running a fever." Further on, the sentences grew shorter: "Hands shaking." "Can't remember her name anymore." "Didn't recognize her today." The last page had only one line, where the pen tip had torn through the paper: "What is my name."

What you think"When he got bitten, nobody thought much of it. By the time we realized we should have cared, he couldn't even remember who he was."

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