Last week, there was a frightfully thin female standing near my woodshed off the driveway of my well-hidden house waving at me as I backed my truck out to go to BiMart.
When I got to her, I asked whether she was looking for an address. Such a deluge of words came my way, not angry, just much faster than I am able to listen. She asked for a ride down my hill, I thought it best to take her out of my neighborhood, so I obliged her, driving to a BiMart much farther than my usual store. She wanted comfort in her dissolute and uncomfortable life, a place of safe rest where she could continue her poison. I will be very surprised if she is around in Spring 2018, I felt as though there'd been a corpse in my truck, so I went home and washed the saddle blanket I use to cover that seat. My wife sits there. 
At one time, I would have been able to pray for her. Now, I just think about her grandfather. 
It's suicide, as slowly as possible.