I haven't written in three days now, but it was only today that I found shelter enough to write.

Yesterday I was attacked by wild dogs. The day before I had to sell my shoes in order to buy fresh water from a short bald man. But for now, for tonight, I am safe in a room I rented for three dollars. The light is not so good, and as the sun sets I expect I will have to stop writing.

In silence by myself. In the middle of the city. I am attacked a thousand times over by wild dogs. Each time there is a change in what happens but in all cases I am devoured whole. Bit by bit until nothing is left.

I already know what will happen tomorrow and the next day, and the next. Wild dogs, tearing into my flesh.