3.

He went to a party in the suburbs once, a party with a little bit of everybody in attendance. He was about nineteen at the time, too young for drinking legally, but laws didn't stop him from much anymore. He wasn't sure who he knew at the party, or more accurately he didn't know who had invited him, he recognized several of the kids milling about.

He grabbed a cup and headed for the keg in the backyard. Some fucking kid tried to make him pay three bucks for a cup, but he simply stared that fucking kid straight in the eyes as he took a cup; he would be the one charging tonight. After all, this was primarily a business trip, he didn't go to many parties for pleasure anymore; he worked nights and weekends now. But he was going to get drunk, try to get laid, and make a huge fucking night off these suburban kids.

The keg was always a good spot for conversation, so he stayed after he got his beer, until he saw a familiar face. He talked for a minute, then sold the kid a nickel bag. That kid would be crucial, that kid would get the word out. He had three pounds in an Adidas bag hidden out front, two of those pounds split into quarter-pound bags. He didn't plan to dick around with this nickel bag shit all night.

By 11:00 he had sold one of those quarters, and all of the sixteen-ounce bags he had split up for his typical smaller consumers. It was a good sized party already. He didn't like the idea of having to split his quarters up, but he was prepared for it if it had to be done. He'd take the scale into the bathroom, spread his shit out on a sheet on the floor and subdivide, he had Ziplocs and that scale and the sheet all stowed away in the Adidas bag. He had carried shit in bookbags and briefcases before, but now he decided the Adidas bag looked least suspicious on buses and other public transportation. Nobody liked to question anybody on the way back from the gym.

At 11:30 he gave up and went to break some of is stash up into ounces. He had sold two more quarter-pounds, but it seemed that none of these fucking kids could afford more than an ounce at a time. One day they'd learn to fucking think ahead, but he knew how high school kids liked to spend their money on stupid shit.

He worked quickly, the next hour was going to be his most profitable he knew. The party was strongest right at about midnight. There were kids all over the house and yard, the hot tub was full of hormones and alcohol, a combination that was always something worth watching. He wandered the house looking for potential sales. He knew what to look for, anybody could pick out a high school smoker.

He headed upstairs, hoping that not all of the doors would be closed. The master bedroom wasn't and in fact had a crowd at the door. He pushed through and saw why, two young drunk girls in bras and panties kissing on the bed. One was working on the clasp to the other's bra, and without the inexperience of guys her age to hinder her efforts the bra soon joined the other clothes in a pile beside them on the bed. The two girls then got horizontal, body parts beginning to intertwine.

As exciting as it may have been, he wasn't there for that, he turned and left, selling two ounces on the way out of the room, both to the same kid. Beer, weed, and two naked girls making out on a bed in front of him, that fucking kid's gotta be fucking happy, he thought as he left.