Story.
Thursday night I had to call the police because a guy broke into the condo next to me. He told me his friend wasn't answering anyone's calls for a week and the police wouldn't do anything. I said, "Well you can't just break in, I'm calling the police." He said, "He's dead in there!!" I tried to talk him out of breaking in (from behind my closed door), but he had a crowbar before the police got there and broke the door.
The guy was dead. The guy has guns, is about 35 years old, has lived there for a year. I only talked to him one time on the day he moved in, but I did see him with a rifle in the parking lot. Quiet, no one knew him. I was afraid about the guns. I thought maybe he shot himself, and I didn't want to see any of that, so I stayed inside. I didn't know who this friend was and didn't know what was going on.
The police were here for six or seven hours, right outside my door - with the door of the deceased open - I could see in, I won't tell you. What I can piece together from hearing just about everything through my thin door is that he overdosed. You'd think the police wouldn't discuss everything right outside peoples' doors, but whatever. There were drugs and paraphernalia around the condo. His friend told the police that the guy had battled a heroin addiction for over a decade. Rehab, quit, start again. The father said they didn't find a note, and that he felt the son didn't mean to die. It's not for sure why he died, it takes weeks for an official report, and I'll never know any more than I do now - the story is important enough just as it is.
So sad. Pretty disturbing, too. His condo and mine share walls. Pretty shocking. Today the family was here and I think got everything cleared out. What a waste of a young life. The guy was working for most of the last year and paying rent. He just couldn't stick with sobriety. Now he finally has a sober date.