"No," he waves his hand. "A part of me should talk about it-tell what happened. There is now a lot of outrage about it, but not for me." His lips press together in a solemn kind of smile. "Only the dead have compassion for me." He hawks a kind of laugh and waves his hand, dismissive. "Dramatic, so I'm told. I had it about five years. Sometimes you smell something, or see something, and you can't really remember where you are. It helped."