The library man. I still didn't know who he was, but. . . did I actually want to? What did I hope to gain from reading about what little he left of himself upon those crumpled pages? Did I feel guilty for his death? Tch. He was the fool who failed to comprehend my gestures at communication. He wrought his own death. A fitting end for a coward. Indeed... well then... hmm? I do suppose seeing him how he currently was did stir anger within me. I suppose reading his words would bring me some solace and to him homage to his last breath.