Of necessity, Lisa and Jessica share everything.

They share living space, childcare, and above all, grief over unpaid bills and repossessed kitchen appliances.

My job tonight is simple: find their house near the Red Brick Church and knock on the door and find out if they have gotten their heat turned back on. (They have no phone.)

Finding the house: Easy.

Knocking: Also Easy.

Heat: Yes.

But.

Lisa’s daughter was hurt, terribly nightmarishly hurt, in a car accident a few days ago. Today she got off life support. Half her bones are shattered, including her face. She has metal rods inside her, holding her together.

They have no refrigerator to keep food, no money to eat tomorrow, no car to go anywhere, and no phone to call anybody. The hospital is twenty miles away. It will go on like this for months. There won’t be enough for rent.

(And who is that man laying on the couch listening to the TV go f*** you, while the children play on the floor?)

So they ask:

Who is my neighbor?