Angel found parts of her career hard.

"Who am I kidding?" she said to herself. "It's more of a job than a career."

She looked down at the woman lying sprawled on the ground before her. Truthfully, it was more of a life than a job.

"My life. Lucky me. Death as a lifestyle." She looked around the scene. It wasn't the best place for someone to die here alone, in the shared laundry room. Lint and soap spilled on the floor. It wasn't her job to choose it but hers to bring it. She hated it sometimes. This one was too young.

A wallet with an internal day planner lay next to the woman. Angel kicked it aside with her toe. The cover was bright purple and covered with inspirational stickers. "You only fail if you stop trying!" said one. You've got this!" said another. Angel picked it up. A pen fell out, but she snatched it before it could hit the floor. The woman was a bullet journal addict. She had been festively crossing tasks off and recording future events when Angel arrived.

"Didn’t see me coming when you made plans for the day, hmm?"

"Angel?"

Angel whirled to see Guy standing in the doorway with a basket of dirty clothes.

“What’s going on?” he said.

Guy looked at the wallet in Angel's hand, confused. Angel tried to answer but found she had nothing to say.

“Oh my God, is she hurt?” Guy dropped his basket and rushed to the woman’s side.

“She’s dead, Guy.”

Now, it was Guy’s turn to reach for words he didn’t have.

Angel shrugged, returned the wallet to the floor, and headed for the door.

“Seriously, Guy, it isn't what this looks like."