just got here. you feel sick. you sleep in the closet. it's autumn. starting to get chilly. we only have heat in a few rooms. but you are too sick to move. i close the door and start up my space heater. the next day. you're dead in the closet. we're scared. thinking maybe they'll think that we killed you. you disappeared here anyway. someone is hired to wrap up your body and stuff the small room with perfume. months past. it's spring. it's time to clean. i remember then. what's behind that door is a prison sentence. so i ask my friend, "is he there still?" oh yes. i'd forgotten. that room was never opened. and i just want to leave. so i call up my dad. i dont want to sleep in a house with a body. and in six years, i know they'll find you. so sick that you died. and we so sick that we just had to hide it.