February 18, 2015:

I copied her key when I found it in her lock, with her door wide open and her body sprawled unconscious, face down in takeout and vomit.

From then on I checked on her every afternoon.

Each day the same. Unconscious on the floor, in the bathtub, in the hallway. A tiny apartment, filled with flotsam and sprawled unconscious woman, victim of her brain chemistry and her family and alcohol.