"O"

“O”

He has addict arms clinching, holding, shaking, short and discolored.  Hanging bleeding unhealthy looking arms often bruising and occasional bleeding.

Everyday Oliver wakes up with a dying urge to do something.  Oliver is 30 years old, or that’s what he remembers.  He’s divorced with five children.  He used to be an investment banker in Chicago, seems like eons ago nowadays.  He figured he would try it just for fun; to be young again is what he thought.  That one time turned just one more, then another and another until he couldn’t stop.  Before he knew it things started to disappear in his life.  His job, his wife, his kids, his dignity, his respect, all gone.  Now he can be found scouring the slums under the 43^rd street Bridge.  Living day-to-day looking for his next fix, never eating or sleeping or reflecting on all that he has lost in is life.  For him it’s just a matter of time.  It’s killing him inside, the drug, he knows it.  But everyday Oliver seeks it out and does whatever it takes to get it, whatever it takes.  Deep down inside he knows he has failed in life, he understands he lost everything.  All he has left is his persistence.  He has lost everything but vows to never lose heroin.  He will never go a day without it until the end, and that’s what he’ll do.