You were cuffed and placed in the back of a patrol car; it was night. The driver was silent as she navigated highway traffic towards the hospital. As you died, a sliver of perception served as an atlas. Your karmic history unfolded, by layers, like an immense map. You became like river sediments passing through a sieve or sunlight filtered through dense foliage. Actions, whether carried out with malice or virtue, were drawn out before you. Scenes from your life emerged: winter mornings in your apartment; fights with past lovers; walking Florida beaches at midnight; being generous when you couldn’t afford to; emotional violence; moments your conscience prevailed; crying in your mother’s closet; unnecessary wrath; instances of private cruelty; serving the homeless. It was morning and you were in a hospital bed; your wrists tied to its railing. Over the next week, a rotating group of strangers sat in the room, periodically. One of them bathed you.