Hard-edged Greg was all trackmarks and arm sleeves, like a prison cell come to life. “No way, you foolin’, Lem,” said Greg. He was the second-eldest. He had a drug problem, hence the trackmarks belying his elbows. He didn’t see it as a drug problem, he saw it as a quirk, an opportunity and a cacophony. He was bigger than Lem, older than Buck, with more tattoos than anyone Vivienne had ever met. From his neck down, he was practically covered. He used to be a sailor, that was why. He got one in every port. He had the thick-tongued speech of a man overloaded with opiates. “She taste finer than wine, she taste sweet as the sweetest candy.”
From Every Inch a King