Nitazene: Scenes From Britain’s Struggle with a Powerful New Drug

“Meanwhile, the death toll rises. John told me he was forty-four—the same age as me—when we first met. That is just under the average age of death for homeless men in Britain. This is more than thirty years shorter than the country’s average male life expectancy.”

It is 6 p.m. on Friday night in Norwich, right before Easter. I am standing by the War Memorial Garden terrace, overlooking the city’s historic outdoor market, as it comes to an end for the day. As the sun slowly sets and shadows begin to engulf the rows of vividly colored stalls, life seems to come to a halt. An eerie calm descends upon the square during the brief respite between traders packing up and heading home and the city bursting back to life with partygoers. This momentary state of tranquility is shattered, however, as I hear the sounds of an ambulance approaching, its blue lights flickering and briefly illuminating the fading Norfolk skyline.

The ambulance pulls up outside a nearby clothing store to find a nervous-looking woman standing next to a man lying face down in a shop doorway. A couple of green-clad paramedics emerge wearing fluorescent yellow jackets. “What’s he taken?” The question is posed with the tone of someone who has seen this a thousand times. “I don’t know,” comes the response. The man appears to be in his fifties; he is missing a shoe and is wearing a ripped gray hooded sweatshirt. The woman shrugs off the other paramedic’s question about his name. When the vital signs are checked, it is discovered that he has overdosed.

After receiving what appears to be an injection in his upper arm, he slowly starts to recover. Thirty minutes or so later, he starts to get up and takes his first tentative steps. While packing up, the emergency crew receives a message and leaves. After an hour, everyone has left.