Insanity was taking over Yesu. He had been working nearly 24/7 for the past three days in order to make the rent for apartment 413, his "storage space" as he told the landlord of Dreamwood Terrace. Only giving himself enough time off to sleep, Yesu had not prayed in exactly 35 hours. Without the calming and euphoric effects he got from his prayers, he was shaking and mentally hyperventilating, kind of like a drug addict going through withdrawal. After his shift and before he went home to sleep, Yesu HAD to get a load of laundry done as he was almost completely out of clean clothes. His wardrobe consisted of a limited amount of loose cloth pants and robes with asian inspired prints. He grabbed his basket of dirty clothes from the apartment and briskly walked to the laundry mat. With dark storms raging in his mind, he didn't notice the open bottle of detergent on top of the washing machine and accidentally knocked it onto the floor. Blue liquid oozed out and only seconds after Yesu dropped to the floor to  clean up the mess, a man swooped in and said "here let me help you out with that." Even more mentally distraught now with this mess, Yesu couldn't form words so he just put his head down and vigorously rubbed at the floor with a towel. The man looked up at Yesu with a kind smile on his face as he wiped at the floor. "I'm Charlie," he encouraged. Instead of replying with his name, Yesu thanked the man. This was partly because he rarely experienced Americans display random acts of kindness, but mostly because help cleaning up the mess would help get him home sooner. Maybe he could sneak in a quick prayer before he went to sleep. With limited further interaction with the man, Yesu hurried out of laundry mat.

As he walked back to Dreamwood Terrace, a well dressed man walked even more briskly in front of him. Like Yesu, the man seemed distraught. He kept looking over his shoulder suspiciously at Yesu. A drug addict. Yesu knew the symptoms of withdrawal all too well. His father had been a cocaine addict from before Yesu could even remember to the day he died of an overdose when Yesu was 15. The way this man clenched his face in his hands and shook his head as if to convince himself he hadn't seen a ghost reminded Yesu of his father when he would run out of money to spend on the magic white powder. It reminded him of the "Appa (Dad) where were you?" and the silent, distant glares like he didn't recognize his own son. Yes, drug addicts are sinful. But Yesu couldn't save them: he didn't want to be drowned by the flood of memories they brought him nor should he even bother with them. They couldn't be saved; Yesu knew that firsthand.