Time to whoop out the big guns…
Let’s see, there’s some powdered hemp, a bit of anti-depressants, and a beat up inhaler.
Let’s see how much that’ll fetch me.
I’m looking at around $500 for the hemp, and if OTC charges don’t apply, another $250 for the anti-depressants.
The inhaler is mine. I’m intrinsic.
You might be wondering, “how does a useless, asthmatic, insignificant bother start selling drugs in the big leagues?”
Money. I need it.
I didn’t exactly grow up like King George III.
My parents weren’t married. My mom was a prostitute, my dad an immigrant.
I never got to talk to my father. He used to leave before sunrise, and would always arrive past midnight.
I really have no idea where he was from. All I remember is that he would be yelling at my mother way after dark. Sometimes I tried to eavesdrop, but the screaming was never in English.
I don’t even remember if my mom ever spoke back.
I know my dad loved me, but if he never cared about my mom, then the prospect of family crowding his head, keeping him working, never existed.
This is coming from a guy whose idea of a holiday was the ability to come home to see my sis and I.
My sis. Not a great child.
Swearing at the age of 5, going out to god knows where every night, coming back just before school started.
My mom always would yell at her, saying that “God wouldn’t approve”
Funny, coming from her.
Not that I’m religious.
Religion is kinda weird. It’s really a projection of the mind, but if enough people follow it, then it becomes a cult, and then a religion. You know what, scratch what I said earlier. It’s really weird.
I think my dad was religious, I mean, sometimes I could hear him chanting something in Hindi before bed.
Not that he was Indian.
At least, I hope he wasn’t.
Don’t ask me why I used to stay up so late.
I just wish I was normal.