Before leaving the cesspool that passed for a home, Devon Davis tried to get his mother to wake up and eat something. As he did every morning after she injected herself, her only son entered her bedroom wondering if this would be the day that she simply didn’t rise. If that wer...
<p>Before leaving the cesspool that passed for a home, Devon Davis tried to get his mother to wake up and eat something. As he did every morning after she injected herself, her only son entered her bedroom wondering if this would be the day that she simply didn’t rise. If that were the case, the paramedics would surely take their sweet-ass time in getting there. Bagging up another junkie in the ghetto was not a high priority.</p>
<p>When he turned his mother over, Devon was only slightly relieved to learn that she was still breathing. He loved her, he truly did, but surviving last night’s injection only made her free to enjoy another in a few hours’ time.</p>
<p>The spent needle, the spoon, and all the other trimmings lay strewn across her nightstand, while the wastebasket reeked with last night’s vomit. Being the dutiful son that he was, Devon had entered the room around midnight and turned Mom on her side. Nothing he did or said could stop her from shooting up, but he could at least prevent her from choking to death on her own regurgitation. Repositioning his mother also allowed Devon to turn her arms inwards, thus hiding a clear view of the track marks. He had no doubt that other portions of her body held the same tattoos of addiction, but he had no interest in confirmation. It was bad enough he often had to see her in her underwear. Any more than that might run up the therapy bills later in life. That’s assuming he survived that long, of course. The life expectancy for a black male in Legacy City wasn’t particularly optimistic.</p>
<p>Devon tossed the spent heroin supplies into the wastebasket bag, where they mingled with the vomit. He tossed the bag down the incinerator slot on his way out of the building.</p>
<p>“The incinerator’s broken, kid,” said the landlord, Mr. Hastings, who was making his monthly rounds.</p>
<p>“Oh,” said Devon as he handed over the rent check. “Are you gonna fix it?”</p>
<p>“Probably not,” the landlord confessed. “Not enough tenants pay their rent on time. You and your mom are two of the few.”</p>
<p>“Right. Have a nice day, sir.”</p>
<p>“You too, kid,” said Mr. Hastings, and he watched the young man head out of the building. Though not the sweetest man in the world, the landlord often said a prayer for the Davis boy to make it out of this...