Selling it.

It was a hot and balmy night when I stepped in the coffeeshop. The usual crowd. Crazy Bob was in his usual seat, mumbling on and on about how his dog had been kidnapped by aliens. Nobody had the heart to tell him that his dog wasn't kidnapped by aliens or point out the fact that he never had a dog in the first place. It seems that things are easier that way. I nod at the waitress and took my seat near the jukebox, patting my left pocket just to make sure the package was there. It was. Crazy Bob looks up from his empty plate and stares me straight in the eye.

'You seen my dog?'

'What dog?' I ask. The waitress stares at me as if I'm the dumbest son of a bitch she's seen in her life. She doesnt say anything but still kept that look on her face.

'My dog. Ya seen it?'

'Yeah. I seen your dog'

'Really?!' his eyes light up with sudden hope and joy!

'Yeap. Killed him. Took my gun and blew his brains out. That'll teach him to shit on my lawn.' I live in an apartment. What lawn, really?

He looked at me in a strange way, sorta like the same way the waitress is looking at me. Like I'm the dumbest son of a bitch he'd seen in his life. Everyone in the coffeeshop froze. They were listening and looking at us the moment Crazy Bob asked me if I'd seen his fuckin' dog.

'You're a fucking liar!' Crazy Bob yelled from across the room.

'No I'm not.' I said.

'Yes you are!'

'No I'm not!'

'Yes you are!'

'No I'm not!'

'YES YOU ARE!!!'

'YES, I AM!!!' I suddenly yell.

'NO YOU'RE NOT!!!'

'YOU'RE RIGHT!'

'I knew it! You fuckin' liar. 'snot funny...' he said. He began to settle down, staring at his coffee cup. 'M'dogs been kidnapped, y'hear...' he mumbles.

'I bashed it's head in with a shovel...'

'WHAT?!'

'Nothing!'

Really, if there's one thing I enjoy doing in this shit town, is pissing off Crazy Bob. I turn to the waitress and ordered me a cuppa. She rolled her eyes and 5 minutes later it was on my table. 5 fuckin' minutes for a cup of coffee? I thought to myself. What the fuck, man. I pat my left pocket again, just in case. It was still there. Cant be too careful, I say to myself.

I waited.

Now I'm not a frequent of this place but not two hours ago I got a call from a guy asking me if I was selling. I said-

'I dont know what the fuck you're talking bout, man. You've got the wrong number.'

'No, I've got the right number. Settle down, dude. Jimmy told me about you and he said I could get some shit from you,' he mumbled nervously.

'Jimmy who?' I ask. I knew who Jimmy was.

'Thin Jimmy, from the corner. He said you could hook me up.'

'I don't know no goddamn "Thin Jimmy". 'Sfar as I know, you got the wrong number, man. Goodbye.' I hung up. He'll call again. They usually do.

A minute later the phone rang again. It was him. Again. This guy sounded young. And stupid.

'Look, I'd deal with Jimmy straight but he said you've got some. Jimmy's fresh out and-'

'Okay! Okay! Shut up, you fuck. I dont do business on the phone. Coffeeshop. Third Street. Wear a red cap.'

'Uh, I dont have red cap. I've got a blue one. And a brown one. But no red cap.'

'Fine. Blue cap. Whatever. No cops.' Oh, the irony.

'Of course not!!! Okay. Blue cap. What about clo-'

Now you might be wondering what it is that I do. Here's the skinny: I am a drug dealer. Okay. Fine. I just sell weed. I'm small time. Keeps me off the radar. Whatever. Pay's the bills. Screws people up most of the time, but hey, what do I care?

I was downing my second cup of coffee when the door opens. A kid, wearing a blue cap, stepped in the coffeeshop . He looks around the shop slowly and his eyes settle on me and we make eye contact. I gave him a slight nod and gestured him to sit on the chair opposite mine.

The kid was about 16 from his looks. Pudgy. With a moustache just barely coming out from his greasy lip. He had a nervous look on his face, but at the same time, fella tried to look tough in unfamiliar surroundings. In a place filled with middle aged men a women, who, incidentally, were studying him with some curiosity, then went back to whatever they were doing. He walked with a slight swagger that looked more comical than macho, as if he owned the place but would twitch if someone even sneezed in his direction. Fuck, I thought to myself. Kids, these days. Personally, I blame the parents. And Ashton Kutcher. That fuck.

'Hey, 'sup?' he said, tilting his head back and sneering in my direction.

'Sit down and shut up.'

'Yuh- Yessir,' he stuttered and sat down so fast, as if the world was running out of seats.

'State your business.'

'What?'

'Your business. What is it that you want?' I said.

'Y'know... I want the stuff.' He said 'stuff' as if its the most dirty word in the world and his mom was overhearing this whole conversation. 'The stuff, like, y'know... weed?'

'And what is it that hope to achieve by buying this so called, stuff as you put it, this, weed?

He began to shuffle in his seat uncomfortably. Sweat began to pour down his brow forehead.

'What's your name, fatty?'

- to be continued