You're Only Market Value

I deal drugs. It's what I do.

You do what you have to to get by where I live.

The streets aren't a nice place, but for most people who live on the streets, it's better than where we came from.

I may deal, but i don't do. Drugs do nothing but screw up your life. I've seen it happen too many times to even think about taking any.

Each day i stand in the same park, underneath the same bridge. I deal with all kinds of characters, from your everyday hippie to club kids to high school girls.

One thing remains the same about each-- They're all untrustworthy. And they're all shady. I don't have to respect them. They're going to come back wether I'm mean or not. They need thier fix.

It's very rare I get new customers.

But today I did.

He had blonde hair, and a smirk on his face. "I'm quinn. I heard you're who i can come to."

He just oozed confidence. I hated it.

I nodded curtly. "What do you want?"

He told me he needed a thirty bag of weed. I reached into my messanger bag and the right size and handed it over, taking the money. He told it and pocketed it, but didn't move.

"What?" I snapped

"just admiring." Quinn responded, with the same smirk he had before.

"Well go admire someone else, I have other clients." I said in a venomous tone. Boy did it bother me when customers hit on me.

He gave a glare, and proceeded on his way.

I watched him as he struted down the cobblestone path.

He'll be back.