In the shadowed underbelly of the city, I had forged a life that remained hidden from the prying eyes of the law. I had become a player in the murky world of drug supply, a role I had taken on for what felt like an eternity. My dealings were carefully concealed, like layers of dirt and grime that had accumulated over time.

I navigated the treacherous waters of my illicit trade with a combination of caution and street-smarts. My interactions with law enforcement were a delicate dance, a game of cat and mouse where every move had to be calculated. When I sensed their presence, I melted into the urban landscape, becoming just another face in the crowd.

My connections with other dealers were tenuous at best, built on a foundation of mutual need and distrust. We exchanged hushed conversations and concealed packages, always wary of the knives that might be hidden in the shadows. Loyalty was a scarce commodity, and I had learned to trust no one but myself.

My clients were a motley crew, drawn from all walks of life. They came to me seeking escape, a temporary reprieve from the harsh realities of their existence. I provided them with what they craved, all the while knowing that my wares were but a Band-Aid on the gaping wound of their troubles.

As the weeks turned into months, and the months into years, I had become a fixture in this sordid world. The Hourglass Theory had been my constant companion, a reminder of the sands of time that slipped through my fingers. I had clawed my way up from the pits of desperation, only to find myself sinking deeper into a different kind of abyss.

The city's pulse beat in time with my own, a relentless rhythm that echoed the ceaseless march of progress. I was a cog in the machinery, a silent participant in the grand design of the Hourglass Theory. But beneath the veneer of anonymity, I was a man on the brink, a man who had begun to question the path he had chosen.