"Damn, man, is that all?"

Long fingers held up one of the baggies, and greenish eyes studied the contents before turning on their (current) owner and scowling. Seriously, bro?

"Wait, just wait." A scale appeared, thumping down between them. "Here. Weigh it all yourself."

It's the suit. Or maybe the shaved head. They totally say Someone Means Business. Act Right. Let's weight it anyway. Just because someone offers to validate doesn't mean it's gospel. That's the oldest con in the world. There's no shame in this game.

One. Two. Three.

"Okay." Long fingers peeled off bills, counting them carefully with a flick of fingers that rubbed the paper as they sifted through. It's habit. Or maybe it's just staying sharp. "You can count it all yourself."

There's a hint of a smirk as the stack rustled down onto the scale; words echoed, forestalling any injured sensibilities. Trust is always a two way street, right up until the oncoming car hits their High Beams.

"Next month?" came the question as the seller counted. Once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three times is a regular customer.

"We'll see." The baggies disappeared into a suit pocket. There's no next month, but there's also no reason burn bridges. Or more importantly? Never let someone know that they're never going to see you again. There's always that temptation; the final transaction, the loss of a customer.

Temptation's the debbil, Bobby Boucher.

Like coming home
And you don't know where you've been
Like black coffee
Like nicotine
- "Hawkmoon 269", U2