Portrait of a Drug Dealer

Back in my hotel room, I crushed some opiates and amphetamine pills up snorting them to give me a much needed boost. At first, I had not even considered staying at the party. Too many people, too much risk, but after my conversation with Michelle, I thirsted for more social interaction. After all, I had spent nearly a month in the hotel room with nothing but a small TV for company.  

I loaded up what Tiz needed as well as a hefty personal stash. Before I turned the key in the ignition, I took a bump of molly. By the time I arrived at the party, I was feeling it.

It was a large two-story house located in a cul-de-sac where a group of people wearing hoodies loitered around the entrance. Plywood covered most of the windows. The ones intact had metal caging around it. Two dozen or so people were outside on the front porch which was an assortment of warped boards and shoddy patchwork. Most of them crowded around some makeshift beer pong tables which were nothing more than doors laid out on sawhorses. Others were lighting up pipes. Loud bass thumped from the house causing the ground to rumble.

As I tried to enter the house, I was stopped by the doorman, a big, beefy thug covered in tattoos wearing a black shirt that simply said, “FUCK OFF!”  in large white letters.

“Fuck off, faggot,” he snarled dumbly. His head was shaved, and his ears were gauged large enough to fit a quarter through. 

“I’m here to see Tiz.”

“For what?” he demanded as he let in a few other people. 

I understood his hesitancy to let me in as I did not look like I belonged. All my tattoos were covered by a long-sleeved button-up dark gray shirt. While my jeans were not from a fancy designer, they did not have large holes in them either. My shoes were basic off-brand running shoes; no stupid check mark ever graced my apparel. I looked like an average guy with an average build who looked like he did fairly average things which is why I was so successful at doing what I did. I liked to call it the chameleon that lay within me. Police hardly ever looked my way. Whenever I am in an area I obviously should not be, police assume I am lost, and I politely thank them for their assistance.

“None of your business, but please let me through. I need to talk to Tiz.”

“You talk to Willy before you talk to Tiz.” 

I chuckled softly. Classic tough guy bullshit. “I assume you must be Willy.”

“Yeah, I’m Willy. Who the fuck you be?”

I smiled painfully. “I am a friend of Tiz. She’s expecting me.”

“She didn’t say nothing to Willy about you.”