I don't know why I got an odd inspiration to write this:

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He was restless, shaky, sweaty, constantly scratching the itches all over
his body, and clearly in great pain.

"I need a fix, man. I need a fix real bad!"

Under normal circumstances he would clearly have been a handsome young man,
probably in his mid-twenties. However, he was just a wreck of a human being.
He clearly hadn't eaten in days, taken a shower in weeks, and his pale face
looked more like a skull, showing unhealthy weight loss, dehydration,
protruding cheekbones and sunken eyes. He looked much older than he probably
was.

"Come on, man, gimme something. I'm dying here! You know me. I promise
I'll pay you next time. I'll pay you triple."

Had his life gone slightly differently, had he made different choices in his
youth, had his environment and friends been a bit different, he might have
been in college studying for a degree in science, medicine or law, instead
of having been reduced to begging a drug dealer in a dark alley because he
had no money. Begging for his life. A life of miserable existence.
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-- 
                                                          - Warp

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