I kind of sort of liked this woozy teensy bouquet of junkie memories but it was just too oh what's the word even though the very sky above me was heavy with the five stars sluiced over this book by all previous readers in all the seven realms of readerdom. 
 I got a mean and unworthy thought - that you could take sentences from almost anywhere in any of these stories and put them next to other randomly selected sentences and they would make as much sense, so I took something from page 20, 40, 80, 100 and 120 and proved it as follows: 
 In the room behind her the man we'd brought stood like a bad sculpture, posing unnaturally, with his shoulders wilting, as if he couldn't lug his gigantic hands any further. He had a bad case of hepatitis that often gave him a lot of pain. "Do you want the police?" He thought about it and finally said "Not unless I die." I turned away because my throat was closing up. And then I left. The motor traffic was relentless, the sidewalks were crowded, the people preoccupied and mean because Happy Hour was also Rush Hour. My bus went by, bus 24 - it didn't even slow down 
 It goes on like this and then it stops. Often a random person dies or maybe somebody doesn't die. There are large vague profound statements every so often. Reading this one felt like I was a first responder continually shouting in the author's face "What is your name? What have you taken? Do you live here? Is there anyone I can call?"