He was a beggar and a thief, plus something more.
Disheveled and dirty, sure, but something more.
Each year he tramped across the continent, following the seasons; from Spring to Summer, southwest to northeast, then as Autumn approached, from north to south before winter’s icicle hands started scratching his weathered skin and seeping into his weary bones.
In the day, he panhandled, trading spare change for abuse and looks of scorn.
In the evening he felt the change approaching, traded his hard earned cash for welcome relief, and then became a thief, a careful thief, although never cautious. Always a misdemeanor, never a felony crime.
It was a rare occasion when he didn’t end up in jail - the only place he felt truly safe and could drift off into oblivion feeling contented and well-fed.
Tonight was no different. Belly full, he retrieved his hidden package and took in his surroundings. The cell was crowded with misfits of various shapes and sizes, the harsh fluorescent light striking from above and casting shadows onto the bleak walls, the stench of desperation assaulting his senses, all to the chorus of moans and whimpers, shouts and wails.
He was ready to transform.
Within minutes, the volume dial in his head switched to mute, the light faded to shades of gray and the walls melted away. He curled up into a fetal position and closed his eyes, embracing the blessed relief and transported himself to another world.
Oh, the magic of fentanyl, America’s scourge.