"Every little thing’s a memory. And memories don’t belong in the trash."

You're the host of a reality TV show that documents and helps hoarders get their shit together.

You see a lot of messes. Visited a lot of houses. Nine times out of ten, people think a few dirty dishes and cluttered surfaces count as extreme hoarding. It's laughable.

But every once in a while, you hit the jackpot.

The application came in from a young woman. She described her living condition as, "a disgusting, overwhelming mess I should be arrested for, I don’t even know where the floor is anymore, oh my God I’m so sorry." Strange.

Most extreme hoarders are older. Bitter. Alone. Dead cats hidden under collapsed trash bags. Not this.

She's young. Should have had a future. Should have made it out. But something twisted along the way.

You check the address. Apartment between District B and Verdant Row. Not the worst neighborhood, but not the best either.

How bad could it be?

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