Dorothy walked through the halls which smelled of pencils.
She’d always hated her name. So people just called Dotty. Everyone loved Dotty. I mean she was a good person after all. She was pretty, and loved animals. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Of course not.

All of those anti-rug speechs. All those stupid projects on the damaging affects of drugs had no affect. "Pshh she'd say. They're crazy." 
Maybe they were. Maybe she was. Somebody was.

So she had a little coke a little Heroin.

Nothing she couldnt ever control. And she was perfectly discreet about it.

Until drugs wasn’t just about getting High. Wasn’t just about fitting in. When drugs were’nt some special little treat.
This was when drugs could make you a profit.