There he sat, under the broken bridge, staring at the out of focus street lights on the speedway. His vision began to blur as he pulled the now hollow syringe away from his arm. Trembling, he reached for his bottle of water. After what felt like hours, he finally felt the chilled plastic against his swollen fingertips.
He listened intently to the sound of passing cars echoing almost rhythmically above him. It was all to familiar to him. The body high, the dialated eyes, sensitive to even the slightest amounts of light, and the rapidly increasing volume of everything that surrounded him. Even though it shouldn't have been, this state of mind was now his home.
And soon, it will be his grave.
