I knocked on my father’s door at the end of the hall last night. I knew that it was his apartment because of the items outside of his door. He didn’t answer at first, but he finally did. As he appeared, his mostly naked body stumbled backward as he let me in. His nose clearly had been broken, his words were slurred, and his eyes swam in his head.

I later saw him in a light gray suit and hat—things he never would have worn. With an acoustic guitar case on his back, he was on his way to a resting place just outside a building I am familiar with.