A teenage girl holding a baby opened the splintered door and nodded. I followed her upstairs where her man was on the couch watching TV.
“What,” he said, not looking.
“I’d like to buy an ounce,” I stammered.
“Where you from?”
“Mt. Lebanon.”
“Rich kid, huh? Ten bucks more. Fifty dollars.”
I handed him three twenties. He left. I stood, watching the baby cry, and waited, hiding my shaking hands, until he returned with a rolled-up baggie.
“I don’t have change.” He stared me down, daring me.
I turned. “Peace,” he said to me and “Shut up” to the baby.
Robert Bires writes in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
If you want to keep EDF around, Patreon is the answer.
Rate this story:
average 3.3 stars • 7 reader(s) rated this
