I want to know how he got there, and how so many more like him fall out of the world most of us recognise and into a hell most know nothing about, a glimpse of which recently reached the front pages. He is handsome, smartly dressed, educated. Three months later, and hundreds of miles away, I sit on his bed in London facing him. The next day a psychiatric unit admits him – another young man, splintered from reality. They stretch out, clasping his arm and yanking him back to the path. What are you doing? Do you need help? There is no response. Two passers-by stop, spotting the unnatural sight. It is early afternoon at the end of August this year, days after another man injected him with seven times the dose of crystal methamphetamine he had agreed to take. The water, tepid from summer, rises up his shins, thighs. A young man stands at the edge of the Manchester ship canal.
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