This sweet lady had a son deeply involved in drug abuse. He was unable to keep a job. He was unable to support himself but he could get his hands on drugs. One night, his drug-use buddies, while partaking in their "victimless" endeavors, saw him overdose. They loaded him in their car—I have to give them credit for that, at least—and drove him to a local hospital's emergency-room entrance. They pulled in, opened the car door, pushed him out onto the asphalt and sped off. My client was notified and drove 300 miles to try to be with her son. During the several days before he died, she spent most of her time with him as a mother would. To take a break, she visited our office and we chatted. I am still haunted by the hurt, the fear, the dread vacant look in her eyes as she discussed his problems and pending death. This man had no insurance so the good people of Idaho paid for his time in intensive care. Most important, however, was the mother's anguish. She was a victim and never got over her son's wasted life and senseless death. Victimless? Yeah, right.