To see junkies sprawled everywhere, just visit Santa Barbara. You find the likes of Wyatt Perkins lying everywhere, often with needle still stuck in arm. This man is trouble. Addicted to any drug he can take; he will do whatever necessary to get your money. To pay for it. He is dangerous. Armed and looking for conflict. When he is not too high to function, that is. Often, he is harmless. Too out of it.

With so many hard drugs coursing through his veins, Wyatt lies about the streets. Unable to move. Fentanyl is his favorite. His drug of choice. His vice. However, any drug will do. The harder, the better. Heroin is another friend to Wyatt. All opiates, even prescription drugs. Crystal meth. Crack cocaine. Honestly, whatever he can get his hands on. It shows. Sadly. Such drug use is very hard to hide.

Wyatt is prematurely wrinkled. His teeth are rotting, his hair falling out. He is skeletal. Just skin and bones. No treatment works. No point even in trying anymore. Not even a court can order Wyatt clean. It fails. Always. Every time, he comes out even more desperate for drugs. Even more aggressive. More violent. Somebody ends up hurt. Every single time. Beaten up. Left for dead.

Nobody can trust such a man. Wyatt cannot call anybody his friend. He does not have any, having chased them all away a long time ago. Stolen from them. Lied to them. Physically assaulted them. Nobody remembers Wyatt clean. Nobody even knows him like that. Never seen sober, even once, all the wants is drugs. And women. He just uses them, of course. For money. For shelter. For sex.

Naturally, he steals their money before long and goes back to the streets of Santa Barbara. Looking for drugs. Taking them there and then. Wyatt is a candidate for a drug overdose. How he is still alive is among life's great mysteries. How somebody else has not killed him is also a miracle. If he is happy to knife people, shoot them, then it is just a matter of time before he picks on the wrong victim.