“I meant what I said. You’re better than all this garbage. When you’re ready, give me a call"
A
ll drug dealers’ houses smell the same: a mix of weed, stale cigarettes, and incense. That’s what I was thinking as I waited for the guy sitting across from me to finish yelling at someone on the phone.
“So if you ain’t buying, what you hollering at me for?” he asked, looking at me suspiciously.
We were facing each other on a set of old couches in his basement. The coffee table between us was loaded with an assortment of marijuana.
“You seem like a smart guy, Samuel,” I told him. “I think you know why I’m here.” I smiled at him.
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