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“Come on son move along,” said the policeman nudging Jossy slightly.

“Damn is it that time already? Can’t I stay for like half an hour longer?”

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“Look mate you know the routine, hey the hostel on Old Kent Road is giving away some clothing and food today. Why don’t you make your way over there?”

“Look ‘PIG’! I don’t need your advice. Do you see this? I am moving. GOD!” Jossy said in a slightly raised angered voice.

“Don’t talk to me like that, now move remove your self from this place before I have to do it myself.”

The policeman watched Jossy walk out of sight before moving onto the next doorway.

When Jossy could not see the policeman anymore he sat down in a doorway that had already been passed and cleared.

Why are they all looking at me like that? Haven’t they seen a homeless junky before!? Mind you, me being a junky is only partially my fault. You could say that it was Sophie, my ex-girlfriends’ fault. Ah Sophie, how I miss her.

Sophie Langress my girlfriend of the past, her expression on her face when she dies still haunts me in the present. She was addicted to heroin that’s how she died. A cold lonely fearful death. I want to go, some how and be with her. Why can’t life ever be that simple though?

When I met Sophie the only thing we did was smoke draw, weed whatever you want to call it. We were both quite heavy smokers. We always carried but it never really effected us in the long run. I guess it’s ’cause we got used to smoking it. Personally I was content. Sophie would always say how she was getting bored of it, that it wasn’t giving her a high anymore. I guess that is why she started to hang out with a new crowd of dossers. I personally did not like ’em. They would have a hit of heroin every now and then, snort coke and pop pills like E. Sophie eventually turned to their ways, but through it all I stuck by her side.

One time she asked me to go with her to one of her friends’ houses. Not wanting to make her upset, I agreed. When we got there they were all already dead to the world. Sophie really wanted a ‘hit’. So she picked up the needle and injected herself. She pleaded me to do it. I remember she said ” Jossy, it won’t harm you. Look at us, we are all happy. All you gotta do is pick up a needle and inject.” Then she sat down, she was out of it like the rest of them. It was like they were all detached from reality, behind a glass wall watching me but not responding to anything I said or did.

I finally gave in and had a ‘hit’. It felt so strange. The feeling inside of me, I am so sure I could feel it flowing through me veins. Once it had passed through me I felt like I was in the tube station and I was the only one standing still but everything around me was moving at a fast forward speed. The next thing I remember was this guy standing over me saying, ” he’s fine, he is awake now. Sophie look’s like your bloke just had his first experience of heroin.”

I remember that when I sat up I still felt dazed, but I had this feeling inside of me that made me feel alive and ready for anything. The feeling was so great. It was like ecstasy of the highest degree. My first taste of heroin and I was hooked.

A couple of weeks past and the novelty of it all had run off. It was now a routine. I was a wound up solider, got up, went to work, got home and had a ‘hit’. It made me feel week and tired. Unworthy of everything. I could see it on Sophie as well. I don’t think she noticed, herself, how bad out situation had got. At least when I did not inject I could keep everything in order and under control. Everything started to get so manic.

Then that certain Tuesday was going to change my life, it was to take a turn for the worst. I got up and went to work, the day was going quickly for me. Working in a factory wasn’t exactly what I had planned to do with my life, but I guess neither was living on the streets like I do now. Any way they said that they needed me to work late. I didn’t disagree, I mean how else was I going to pay for the heroin. I called Sophie up and told her that I was going to be late. She said that everything was cool and that she would take her ‘hit’ without me and then go to bed so told me not to wake her. Un-apparent to me at that time was that, that was the last I was ever going to talk to Sophie again.

I finished work earlier than I had expected so I made my way home. When I got to the bottom of the flats I could hear crashing on the floor above, where our home was. I thought that there was a drugs bust, but there were no police vans outside. I ran up the first flight of stairs burst through our front door and there she was with a razor blade in her right hand. There was blood everywhere. She was bleeding from her neck and her wrists. She looked me in the eyes as if to say sorry. She was crying hysterically and all I could do was stand there and watch her.

I was in shock, I could not move. I felt so helpless, she took one last look at me, dropped the razor blade and collapsed. I ran to her and new it was too late. I held her head in my lap whilst she died. I started to cry as it suddenly hit me that I would never talk or see her alive again. I could not help but think why she had done this. I started thinking then I realised that we had got a new batch of gear (heroin). It must have been bad. Well, she reacted to it and it sent her crazy.

I went to bed that night not knowing what to do. I had to get away from that place. When I woke up I decided that I had to leave, I got my sleeping bag and grabbed some clothes, and what little money I had and ran. I left Sophies’ body there alone and cold to rot until someone would find her. I wanted to go so badly. I thought it would help me to forget what happened. I was in denial bigtime. I think that in someway I was being selfish. I mean I could have called the police, but I knew that if I did I would get put away for doing drugs and probably would also have got done for murder or something. Thinking about it now, I would prefer to be in prison. At least I would have a roof over my head.

It’s now about a year and a half on from that day and look at me. I live on the streets begging each bloody day for money, just so I can feed my heroin addiction.

I still play that day over and over in my head and I still think of what might have been different if only I did not have to work late at the factory. I could have saved her. I would not be on the streets of London begging to feed my habit. All I can do now is wait. I don’t know what for, maybe I am waiting to die so I can rid myself of this torture. Am I going insane from this madness that I am caught up in?

I just can’t comprehend this situation which I am in. sometimes it feels like a dream that I can not escape from. It’s like another dimension, where dreams and reality aren’t separate but are as one, like a united bond. A never-ending misuse of life. My life is a used needle in this urban haystack.

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