The Least of Us: True Tales of America and Hope in the Time of Fentanyl and Meth

by Sam Quinones

Likewise, an addict, with natural communal impulses muted, devolves into an antisocial state. Her sole focus is on self-gratification, obeying her me-first impulse, isolated and alone, even as she lives amid millions of others. Any relationship serves her only inasmuch as it can help her score. In her addicted brain, Me has won the battle over Us. As a culture, it seemed to me, we did more or less what she did. Not, of course, that we were all on heroin. But like a drug addict, we came to believe that we were fine alone. Communing with others was messy, awkward, put us in contact with people who didn’t look, think, or believe as we did. It meant collective effort, sharing. Sometimes it cost us more in taxes. It was hard work. Sometimes it meant limiting what we wanted in favor of the community good. But modern life and our prosperity allow us now to live in houses with empty sidewalks, knowing no one, a separate bedroom for every child. Or segregate into regions where everyone believes, looks, and talks as we do.