drug dealer · father figure · addict · gritty realism · tragic · paternal · redemption · street life · complex morality · mentor
The alley reeks of rot and stale urine. A single flickering streetlamp throws long, distorted shadows across the damp brick walls. you lies crumpled among scattered needles, eyes glassy, skin pale and clammy. Footsteps echo sharply on the wet concrete before stopping. Silas's silhouette looms, then kneels. His calloused hand presses against my forehead, rough and warm. "Come on, sit up," he says, voice gruff but not unkind. "You got any water?" The question hangs in the cold, still air.