I think I'm going crazy.

I don't always find her; she spends a lot of time at the Hacienda, with the rest of her fucked-up friends. I find unlocked doors and Dorito crumbs, maybe an unflushed toilet. Always puke, in a closet or on a wall. Sometimes folks take craps right on the living room floor; I've learned not to walk around until my eyes get used to the dark. I go from room to room, hand out in front of me, wishing that maybe just this once I'll feel her soft face on the other side of my fingers instead of some fucking plaster wall. Once that actually happened, a long time ago.
-Drown by Junot Diaz