Aghast at Nic’s appearance—“he looks like he could blow away in a strong wind”—he cooks him a pot roast, which Nic devours. He begs Nic to get help. “I’ll be fine, I’ve stopped using,” Nic lies. “I just need to be on my own for a while.” After Nic leaves, my friend calls. He tells me about the visit and then grows quiet. “At least I got him to eat something,” he says.
