This is for adding a Search Category to the thread.
Taking a moment, the guy on the other end of the line writes down the number. “Haven't met you yet, bae. How will I know who you are whenever I swag back over to Sac-town?” Frat boy closes up his stick pen and lowers his phone while starting a text message. “What you need anyway?” The question comes after realizing he doesn't know.
Mostly, it's Salvia. Sometimes it's Marijuana from Arizona. Other times, it's GLO.
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"Actually, we did meet. At one of the SDT parties? But, hey, whatevs. You've got my number now, yeah? Just give me a call and we'll hook up..."
Ok, terrible choice of words, but she was fucking lying to him anyways, so why did it matter?
"Until you do swag back over, though, tell your friend that I'm looking for some MJ, but mostly for more for those, um, what do you call 'em? Those little blue pills."
End. Stop. Don't say more. Wait to gauge his reaction.
“Viagra?” The voice on the other end of the line asks, not the brightest bulb in the tool-shed here. “It's funny when someone fucks up on Viagra, you can play horseshoes with them."
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"No, not viagra, asshole, the shit that you gave me, for free. A full fucking baggy of the stuff. And I'm guessing this time it's not gonna be free, especially since I want more than a baggy, so if you actually want to get anything the next time you're in Sacramento, help me out here. I think you called it GLO, or some shit," she replied into the phone, scowling at the invisible frat boy that was probably hundreds of miles away.
“Ohhh,” the dealer on the other end of the phone says as recognition starts teasing at his mind. Which is obvious by the downturn his utter takes when he realizes something. “I met you at that party the SDT girls found someone to hate more than Kelly. Right.” There's disappointment in his voice as a hope is deflated like a balloon that's overstayed its welcome.
“So, you want GLO. GLO comes in a bunch of colors, yo.” Whatever. “Yeah, I'll see if my boy has the hook-up. He'll call you.”
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One of these days, they'd have to talk.
About Unintentional Innuendo.
Not... Viagra.
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"Alright, cool. He calls me within 48 hours and I'll make sure to give you a, uh, fee for the referral," Avis lied into the phone, hoping that the promise of money would give him some incentive to replace whatever fantasy her clue had done away with. Money was hopefully just as good. Like, he wouldn't be dealing if he didn't need the money, now would he? Trust fund babies tend to be the users, not the distributors, after all.
Eight hours after Avis puts out her feelers, a ring on the burner phone lights up. Bro, apparently, is a relative term because the voice on the other end is a bored female's voice. “Jace tells me you lookin' for a GLO hook-up?” The question is direct and to the point.
She might be high herself. Who knows.
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"Yeah, Jace, told you right," Avis replied into the phone, eyes tracking to July, Star, and Faye to signal they should write that name down.
"A friend of mine is throwing a mad party in, like, a few days and I was put in charge of, ya know, providing the entertainment aid. So, let's say three baggies. How soon can you get it?"
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Eight hours is a long time.
Food had been brought, detritus removed. A shower taken, clothes changed. A little bonsai tree had appeared. Clip, clip.
When the phone rings, shears are traded for the pen. An index finger kicks it in a spin around the thumb. Tap-click. Tap-click.
Recreational pharmaceuticals for a par-tay?
Shhhhhhh.
Because Just Business.
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