[ she should know better. somewhere, in the back of her mind, the girl know more than to just go to strangers and ask for drugs, but this is her life. pressed between each back alley high and each main road fight, she is an addict. to the core, past the core. tell her to pick her poison, its easy, blow. cocaine. snow. call it as you wish, its the same. white lines on broken mirrors broken with a credit card.
   eyes wide (not childishly, but still wide) she stares up at a man, want and need lacing her features in the way they can. fighting the come down for as long as humanly possible. she parts chapped lips to speak, but the words get caught in her throat. die in her lungs, and are laid to rest in the back of chest. she won't straight out ask this man for drugs, but with a half smile, she'll suggest they're what she wants. ]
     " Ya don' 'appen ta know where ta hook a girl up 'roun' these parts d'ya? "