A girl with one of those schizophrenic disorders came to visit her friend in the city, and left her shoes in a housemate's room by accident. The housemate wore these shoes to get the mail, and set them in the corner of the room to wait for this girl's return. She'd be back, she would usually come and visit frequently. A week or two passed, the girl went missing. She'd disappeared before, adding drugs to the equation of an already unbalanced brain and a lonely personality. Things were looking bad. Three or four days later she was found and put on suicide watch. During the panic, the housemate could only think, "What if I have a dead girl's shoes in my room?"
There are some days when I wake up in a room where the is sunlight blocked by the trashy roll-up shades that I cannot roll up because my bedroom windows face the street, and there are people out there who will look in the window and see straight into my heart. On these days I open my eyes and remember that there are people in the world who get off on "vore" and "furries" and "furries who like vore".
Then I cannot get out of bed for another half hour, at least.