one million copies.

The bed had been removed already.
They left the bedside cabinet untouched, though. On it were: his reading glasses (not that he really needed them, they had minimum correction), a pack of Kleenex, his cellphone (switched off), a phone charger (not plugged in or hooked up to the phone), a Tupperware with a slice of pink cake in it, a pot of yoghurt (opened, but the foil carefully folded back to re-seal it for later consumption) and a vase (no water or flower in it). And a book. Open, with a pencil sticking out, used as a bookmark. A thriller. Written by two people—the two names linked by a “with” on the cover. Under the names: “Over one million copies sold!” I opened the book where the pencil was to see how far along he’d made it. Page 277 out of 599. He was almost half-way through. Did he read page 277 all the way down to the bottom or did he stop before? Yeah, so I see the top of a white hospital bedside cabinet, square, made of durable and easy-to-clean material.
The privacy curtain still drawn on the one side, on the other is a window.
It’s night. It’s almost completely dark outside.
Then a nurse walks in and politely asks me to leave.