Lady Heroin's remorseless hunt continues. A young man dies from endocarditis in the baking heat of the ward, his family sobbing, silhouetted in the orange sunset of a psychedelic hospital curtain shroud. Other wounded beasts sweat, tremble, and vomit in withdrawal but, denied opiate substitution, pull out their lines and run off without their deep vein thromboses being treated. Countless victims of heroin roll into casualty—cyanotic, cold, and close to death or dead. We save the ones we can with naloxone, …