Why am I in this car? I'll sit still. Sometimes, if you don't move, your memory comes back.

But it's not working. One thing is certain, the driver is smoking. The vehicle is filled with heavy smoke. My eyes are burning. I feel sick. The man has grey hair, dandruff on his shoulders. On the rearview mirror a small cross is swinging on a string of pearls.

One thing at a time. The driver picked me up, held the door open for me, and the others looked on open-mouthed....

...Because actually, at the Abendruh Sanatorium, every day is the same as the next. At breakfast the radio is on, you go to the park, your back hurts, there's lunch, you look at the newspaper and get annoyed, while the TV is on; some are watching, others are sleeping, someone is always coughing pitifully. Then it's already half-past three and dinner is served, and then you lie awake and have to go to the bathroom every half an hour. Sometimes there are visitors, but never for me. Sometimes someone dies and is taken away. But those who are still alive are not usually picked up by a black car with a chauffeur.

Translated from German byRoss Benjamin