“We’ll get them to the buyer and get our cash before the end of the night,” another man sitting at the table quickly says. “You fucking better... If I don’t get my money, someone’s gonna fucking die.” “Don’t worry, Nekeisha, we’ll get that paper,” Jerome says.“And what about the coke? Have we sold through our remaining inventory?” she asks. “We’ve got a little bit left, but we’ll get the rest out.” “It better be replaced with paper by the end of the night,” she growls. “It will,” says the guy at. ”Her smile disappeared instantly and was replaced by a look of half shock, half disgust.“Fuck you!” she just said, and left. I laid back in bed and grabbed my laptop and a few more garlic cloves, feeling pretty good. I mean, sick as a dog, but feeling good about myself the way only a big brother can when he has finally rendered his little sister somewhat speechless. I’m sure some of you know what I mean. When I woke up the next morning however, I felt awful. I felt as if someone had poured. More

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