His voice didn’t sound like his own. It cracked at the last word. Pathetic was all he could think about it. Begging to be let into this crack whorehouse, he’d finally fallen to the bottom.
The door opened just enough for him to make out the man’s face. His sunken eyes drooped down. Both of his hands clutched tightly to the edge of the door. Dirt caked over his nails. They were bitten down to nubs and dried blood filled the cuticles. Ryan looked up from the red fingers, taking in the man’s sad sullen face, and the unkept hair. It shined in the light not because it was healthy but because it hadn’t been washed in a while. The oil build-up wasn’t as bad as the whiteheads overtaking the man’s nose. They were on the edge of exploding. Ryan wanted to help them get there and the urge to pop the
