The gentle morning sun drapes across my shoulders, streaming down my black blouse like a cape; it holds a pleasant warmth reminiscent of carefree picnics under the old oak tree. When I close my eyes, I can almost feel her hand in mine â€" hear that jubilant laugh which always felt too big coming from such a small girl. They are bittersweet memories, and the pang in my heart convinces me to open my eyes before I lose all my composure in the middle of the busy sidewalk. Besides, the sadness rouses the ugly beast in me, the monster constantly lusting to hunt down some narcotic to numb the world away. It was against everything she helped me accomplish; I refuse to betray her like that, even now that she is gone. I heft the duffel slung across my back, repositioning its strap absentmindedly in my hand as the other unfolded a crumpled piece of paper, revealing slanted handwriting jotted sloppily across the page reading Riverdale â€" 210. A simple glance up confirms what I already suspect: I am here.

A short jog up weathered stairs brings me to my apartment. It has character, which is real estate talk for being older than the cosmos, with shabby wooden floors and walls mostly likely riddled with asbestos. Still, it feels like home, and that's all that really matters to me. Unceremoniously dumping my bag on the ground just inside the door, I take a short tour of the place, checking that the water could still find its way through the rusted pipes and that all my meager funds could cover were indeed here and accounted for. Running water, working electricity, walls â€" yup, everything fit the bill. However, there's only so much a girl can do in a barren apartment; I hadn't brought much with me except for some clothes, a sleeping bag, and a bottle of water, which I quickly root out and toss into the fridge. So, without further ado, I take it upon myself to introduce myself to the neighbors. Might as well get to know some of the faces I will be seeing on a routine basis. Slipping out, I notice whomever lives in the house to the left of mine appears to be in â€" at least, the lights were on. Not one to pass an opportunity, especially when it is staring me in the face, I march over to the door and knock.