Brian was a fat computer geek and an amateur drug-dealer at best. He sold us some lean back when he had a prescription for a brief window of time. His ineptitude was well-demonstrated that night when he told us to meet him at a playground to make the exchange. Seriously, a playground. It couldn’t have been much more conspicuously cliché. Moreover, the directions he gave us to reach said playground were excessively confusing. Before I even met the kid, I knew he was in the wrong line of work. His place in life is in a dark, sticky room, jerking off to hentai and drinking mountain dew, can after can, dripping sweat as the fan in his computer tower huffs incessantly in the muggy heat of the summer night.
After making a decent sum off of that ephemeral prescription, he figured he oughtta get himself a steadier supply of whatever he could get. That happened to be a generic alprazolam script. The pills were each a measly .5 mg, which he intended on selling for three bones apiece – that asinine fuck. Anyone willing to pay three dollars for basically a quarter of a dose has got to be either rich (never the case here), desperate, or just plain ignorant. As for the seller, in this instance, fucking ignorant. With a cunthair like that, you just gotta lay down a firm hand and tell him your price, and if he doesn’t budge then he can take his cuckery elsewhere.