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addiction drugs Jul 25, 2020

Written by Liz Hyman.

She had blue hair, with a green streak.

I left the store to get to the car and there I saw her, mourning life.

She was cold. 

I was cold.

The tension was warm. 

“Are you ok?” I asked.

“Do you have any money?” she responded.

I checked my pockets only to find 2 quarters and a receipt. 

“No, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes lowered, like the head of a crane, and I continued with a sad walk.

An hour later I returned with chips she did not want.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the morse code written up and down her body. 

She wanted heroin.