His parents called him Alfred, but all of us - both in life and after death - simply called him the Doctor. The doctor was a brave selfless person, a navator for his time, he was constantly studying and the number of people he saved lives went into the hundreds. The doctor spent days and nights in the hospital, never getting married, because there was no place for a woman in his heart - it was entirely given to medicine. His vitality was so great that he entered the sick with the most dangerous and contagious diseases without fear. The doctor was idolized in the hospital and throughout our city, they went to him from neighboring cities ... so when one day, leaving the hospital in the dead of night, he was accidentally trampled, killing him on the spot, by an enraged horse with a drunken rider - we all fell into the deepest mourning. It seemed as if the lights had been turned off in the city. Death is sometimes very evil in its irony