Junkies are the worst.
“Look, man, two hundred dollars, right? Two hundred. Just open the spigot for like a second.” The guy was scrawny, but he had the telltale potbelly of a junkie. It’s really the eyes that give them away, though. His were like open sores.
“Everyone gets their fair share,” I said. “I’m not having some woman in Toledo kill herself because you had to soak up her dose.”
He spat and ran outside. I watched him, making sure he didn’t bother the truck. It gleamed in the sun, adorned with the warning sign - CAUTION: Liquid Hope.
A Horse With No Name
9 hours ago