'You were going to get me some M,' she whispered in his ear. […] His friend uses morphine, too.

I lived in Socal for about 10 years.

Moments later, a small, sobbing figure would emerge—dirty as a rat and smelling pongier than the rottenest egg.

“And would you like doing that?” “I'm not gone on it.” She pulled me around so that she could get the light on my face , and she said : “Do it, do as the priest says. It'll help yourself to grow up." […]