"Look in your sister's room," P. C. said, as he walked past me to the kitchen.

"Look in my sister's room?" I said.

"Yeah."

"You want me to look in my sister's room."

"Look in her room."

I got up and walked over uncertainly and peered in the open doorway to find her slumped sideways on her bed, shoes on, face buried in a tangle of bedspread and pillow.

"She came home earlier and I said how are you and she said, ‘I'm shitfaced'," P. C. explained. "She went into her room."

"Did she tell you why she was shitfaced?"

"She went in and I expected her to come back out and tell me but she just like that, went down and that was it. Like that."