Last night I saw a heroin addict mid-high on the 3 express northbound. On the platform, he had been insufficiently dresses in loose, gray sweatpants and shirt. He wavered and swayed a not-entirely safe distance from the gutter where the trains came, but seemed stable enough. We both boarded the train, and he held tight to the pole. His high was intensifying as he swayed an licked his dried lips and closed his eyes. Others in the car caught wise to the fact that he wasn’t exactly in a sober state of mind. Halfway through a smile big enough to light the entire East coast crossed his face.