As in most books I've read about addicts, Mike Doughty's doesn't really wallow for long in how awful it must be but his is the only one I've ever read in which the author says: "If heroin still made me feel like I did the first time, and kept making me that way forever -- kept working -- I might've quite happily accepted a desolate, marginal life and death." Although sobriety is surely the better choice, he's seems to have traded desolate and marginal for bitterness and self loathing.
For Children
