Her apartment came furnished. Several others in her building were available, and we were offered an online tour by her rental facility— an offer we did not refuse. “Ha ha, who is doing the stalking now?” we kept asking the array of pictures of B.S. we’d spread across the desk. And there, in the online tour: the bed she sat on, the fake Christmas tree, cream shag carpeting, her kitchen table. Duplicated in the photos before us. It was an apartment not for transients, although not necessarily for the stable, either. The radius of activities we were able to discern—visits to the bookstore, post office, and bank—all took place within a select few blocks of this home.