I lived in Socal for about 10 years.

Moments later, a small, sobbing figure would emerge—dirty as a rat and smelling pongier than the rottenest egg.

'You were going to get me some M,' she whispered in his ear. […] His friend uses morphine, too.

“And would you like doing that?” “I'm not gone on it.” She pulled me around so that she could get the light on my face , and she said : “Do it, do as the priest says. It'll help yourself to grow up." […]