Dan was a great roommate, always minded his own business, never shot up here—was a quiet as a dormouse. I asked him one time why he shot heroin, why he would sit there and share needles with people who might have AIDS.

He told me that there was a bond between those junkies that surpassed the bond of sex between a man and a woman, something beyond words that could not be explained.

He did clearly explain to me what it was that made heroin the most important thing in his life. He said, “Jay, I could be sleeping in filth, rats crawling over men, haven’t eaten for a few days, haven’t worn clean clothes in a week, but none of that matters. Think of all of the concerns, the troubles, the heart aches, the worries that a person has in their daily life. When I’m high, everything is fine, there are no troubles, no worries no concerns. Other than partaking of the singular joy of this drug, my only concern is that I have to get high again in twelve hours.”

Dan eventually got arrested again—he had been arrested before—and hung himself. He had always said that he would not do time again, that prison was something he could not endure and eh was good for his word.

-Jay