Iraq. Baghdad. 2006. A dying Iraqi soldier in an American hospital in Baghdad. The surgeon, covered in blood, accosted me in the hallway, called me a vulture for photographing the dead and the dying, and stormed off. Some of the other doctors apologized and said I was doing necessary work, while others just looked away. I don’t know this dying man’s name. I don’t even know how many dead and dying people I’ve photographed over the years. In very few cases a memory stands out, but mostly the memories are buried deep, and it’s only when going through my archive that the details come tumbling back.