thelionscrimsonclaws:

This is the seedier side of literature and sometimes when it’s late, I cruise the streets until I find him….sprawled in some dusty corner of a well-used bookshop with pages draped over his bare arm, a glazed look in his eyes, high as a kite on Chaucer or Fitzgerald, and a trail of crumpled bills leading to the counter. As I pick up his inert body and walk past the shelves, dog-eared, greasy, stained pulp novels that have seen things, call me ‘Sugar’ and put their wares on display to tempt me. I keep going with his weight in my arms. For him, I cannot give in.  It’s fortunate that I love him so…..even though he’s an addict.  *shakes his head*