I think I've become a writer. I got this offer that I'd like to accept, but I dont know if I have the talent. So I tried my hand at writing a quick story to see how it'd go. If you're reading, let me know if its any good, wontcha?

Jack

He sits on the street corner, pale as death, rocking back and forth. He stares into space as he thinks about Jack.
Jack was amazing. He had always been full of life, he worked hard, was honest and never had problems with his temper. Didn't he? No, Jack never had those problems. Smirking, the youth grabbed at the familiar sweater pocket where he always kept his stash. Empty. It was always empty these days. He shuddered. He needed some now and fast but where? Passerbys did what they were named after and just kept passing. He was part of the street corner, he was invisible, he was-- Dammit he felt like his fucking head would burst if he didnt get some soon! He rubbed his palms together as white mist clouded from the slight openning between his lips. It was cold, too cold. But once he was high, it was like the cold disapeared. Everything disapeared, his pain, his memories, Jack.
Jack...he'd had it all. Good grades. A good girlfriend...didn't he have a girlfriend? At the time it seemed so. It was hard to remember the dude sometimes but Jack was always occupying a small place in the back of the youth's mind, wavering into view every now and then. Mostly on days like today, when he was desperate for a joint.
Suddenly, he caught sight of a familiar face. A badly shaven man, black matted hair and an all-around shady complexion sauntered inconspicuously into an alley, not far from the youth's habitual street corner. That guy would have something for him! Pushing Jack to the back of his mind (what happened to his girlfriend anyway?), he slunked over to where the black-haired drug dealer had disapeared barely seconds before.

The alley was dark making the man almost indistinguishable in the shadows. Approaching causiously, the youth glanced around nervously and addressed the man in what he hoped was an off-hand manner (he had stuffed his trembling hands into his pockets so they wouldn't give him away): "So...so you got what I'm looking for?"
"Says who?"
The man was leaning on the hard brick wall in the alleyway, a cool amused smile playing on his lips.
"Come on man! I know you got it! Just... just hand it over ok? And we won't need to get rough..."
The man barked a laugh. "You 'ain't in no condition to get rough, my man". He grinned, eyeing the trembling pockets where the youth had stuffed his sweaty palms. "You got any cash on you?"
The youth tried to control his rising frusteration. "Do I look like I got fucking cash on me? I'll pay you back, fuck, just give it to me!" He wen't to grab the man's collar menacingly, but the man was too quick. In a second, he had the youth's hands in an iron grip. He was no longer smiling.
"Yeah? And how many debts you got already, kid?"
The youth said nothing. Jack would've never gotten himself into a mess like this.
"Ok, listen up", the man said, releasing his grip slightly, "I might be able to help you out." He pushed a small satchet in the youth's chest. "For now, I can let you off. But I expect to be paid. Soon", he paused. "And go easy on it. You feeling me, kid?" The small smile was back.
Mumbling thanks, the youth stumbled from the alley, clutching the satchet as if it contained a part of his soul. Jack wouldn't be in a situation like this, he kept thinking. Jack had been smart, funny, he hadn't been a miserable dope sniffer. Jack had had a good life ahead of him...
Suddenly, he dropped the satchet. As he clumsily fell over to retrieve it, cursing, a small chain fell from his pocket. Stopping, plastic bag in hand, he picked up the chain and examined the lcoket he had examined so many times before. He didn't need to open it; he knew what was inside. A picture. A picture of a girl. Her hair was mousy brown and her eyes were slightly too far apart but to him, she was beautiful. There was a note too, which he knew by heart: "I'll always love you Jack, Amy". Amy. Why did he let her go?Jack wouldn't have let her go. But Jack was gone. Vanished, poof! Only to be replaced by this pathetic junkee. The youth bitterly shoved the locket back into his pocket. Amy. Where was she? Does she... No, better not think about it, he thought as he sat down behind a dumpster, fumbling at the knot in the bag. Jack was dead and he wasn't coming back. So long Jack , he thought, and sniffed.