Death, Money and PMS

Grieving and PMS are not a very good combination.
Last Friday, I told my manager that I was having problems coming up with money, and was there a later day I could pay the rent? He said if I paid on the 3rd, he wouldn't deposit it until the 10th. Later on that day, I saw him walking his dog, a little chihuahua named Butch. Apparently, Butch really liked me, though I couldn't tell from my angle. My manager told me Butch had recently been fixed, and when he was happy, you could really tell. Then as an aside to me, he said,
"Between you and me, I wish I could do that, sometimes."
I have a little strawberry shrub outside my apartment, and there was a little strawberry on it, ready to be picked. My manager said if I didn't eat it, he would. When I did picked it, he came over and put it in the middle of a little coconut shell with coconut ice cream in it. I asked him to share it with me, but he told me to enjoy it. As he went back to his apartment, I called my mom to let him know about the nice thing that had just happened. When I was off the phone, I had finished the dessert. So I rinsed out the shell and took it back over to his placed. The music was playing very loudly, and I knocked on the door a few times. But no one came to the door. He was already dead by then.
I didn't know it, though. He played his music loud, before. Later that evening there were sirens outside. But in L.A. (especially in this area, for whatever reason) there are always sirens outside. As the week went by, my manager was nowhere to be seen or heard. Suddenly, there were flowers and a couple candles around our birdbath. Then one day, my managers headshot was taped to the birdbath. I guess I knew by then, but I thought of alternatives, first. Maybe he's on a trip? Maybe that's his brother's picture? Maybe he and his partner are pagans? It could've been anything.
But then on Thursday, I saw my neighbor and asked her where our manager was, and she asked,
"You mean, you don't know?"
That's really the answer right there, isn't it? Especially when all the clues are pointing in the right direction.
Aparently his partner found him in the apartment, already dead. They don't know how he died (so I'm guessing anneurism or massive heart attack). His partner started putting notices on people's doors, but ran out, so only the upper floor got them. If you're as anti-social as I've been, lately, it can take a while to find these things out, I guess.
Today, I put two strawberries on the birdbath. For his next life, I hope my manager gets a ten-year vacation as a dog.