Change Of Plans

“So, what kind do you want?” he asks me. “I got that X, cheese, grey goose, sherman sticks, anything you need.” Who ever thought that me, a 15-year old high school student, would be buying narcotics from a college dropout. But if people only knew how things were at home. Gosh! I wish Mom would shut up about my grades. I’ve got it under control. She doesn’t understand how good this stuff is and that I need it. “I got 350 dollars. What’ll that get me?” I asked my dealer. “Well, since you are a new customer of mine, I’ll hook you up. But ONLY this time. Don‘t ask for the hook-up again,” he told me. So, I put all of my “goods” in my backpack and I was off to The Fridge. For those who don’t know (which are probably losers), The Fridge is “the” hangout spot in town. Anybody whose anybody hangs out at The Fridge. Gossip is told, babies are made, people get smashed and stoned - all at The Fridge. So, of course, I knew this would be the perfect place to sell some of my “goods”. Heck, some of the staff of The Fridge would probably buy it too. See, there are two particular people I was looking for: Felix and Stacks. They help me with the “biz”. You didn’t think I was a rookie did you? Come on, this is Los Angeles. No one is a rookie to this kind of life around here. About five minutes later, here came the boys. I hopped back into my Porsche and pulled up alongside of them. “Hop in,” I instructed them. “Make it quick. We have a lot of work to do.” And boy, was that ever true.1

We get back to The Palace, what I call my house, and unload the “goods” into the den and get ready to “divide and conquer”. “Felix, here’s the X and the cheese. Go to the three middle schools around town and show them what they are missing. Give out only one free sample, if they want one.” I gave Felix his share and off he went. “Stacks, here is the grey goose and the sherman sticks. Also, here’s some bags of coke. Go to the high school and make them mine. You have three hours. Call Felix and tell him the same.” Stacks grabs what he needs and jets. Now, it’s time for me to relax.2

That is, until I get a knock at the door. The boys have been gone for about, oh, ten minutes. “Are you Dante?” the man at the door asked me. “Yea, that’s me.” And the man replied, “Not anymore.”3

*gunshot*