“Damn addicts.” Dr. Blindsmith mumbled under his breath as he briskly exited the south entrance of the city’s dilapidated state hospital emergency room that crisp Tuesday evening. Shortly after 7AM he had seen James, the middle-aged homeless veteran who was currently residing at The Mission downtown. James usually reeked of stale cigarettes and Old Milwaukee’s Best, except that morning. That morning he had actually taken the initiative to shower before coming in to get another script of pain pills to sell and then buy his crack with- the young, physically stunning physician thought to himself. It was not much longer after shift change when James shuffled in again, claiming the three remaining teeth in his mouth, “was justa hurtin’ so bad, so bad Doc”. Then he would refuse to follow-up within three days in the clinic to have something done about it, which subsequently had him labeled as a “seeker”. Truth be known he had followed up. He called and was told the next available appointment wasn’t available for two months. He took the appointment slot and had every intention of making the appointment, but still had another three weeks to wait. The night before his mouth hurt so badly that he felt his options came down to going to score some crack, his drug of choice, for some temporary relief, or going back to the ER and asking for help first thing in the morning. After speaking to his sponsor, he opted for the latter. He he hadn’t smoked or drank anything in over 5 months and didn’t want to backslide, not now. He did not like taking pills, or any form of medication for that matter. They made him feel nauseated and dizzy, and he never understood why the young white kids and housewives went so crazy over them. “Damn addicts”. The doctor mumbled, still recanting his long shift as he entered his now empty 4 bedroom, 3 bath luxury townhouse. He took a long hot shower, washing “the filth” off his hard, masculine chest and beautifully toned arms and legs before retiring to the bedroom. Opening his mahogany stained nightstand, he retracted a new syringe and opted to add 5mg/ml of morphine to his usual nightly cocktail regiment. One more shift to go, he thought as he saw the flash, ensuring he was in. One more shift to go…..