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I thought I did a good con job at dinner
last night. Now I’ll probably catch
an earful about rapid weight loss from Mom.
Heather is definitely on my shit list.
But apparently the loosening
of my jeans has not escaped notice.
Now if I can just run into Trey.
I’d call him about scoring for Dad,
but Stockton is too far away. So
last night, when everyone wandered
off to their bedrooms, I called Grade E.
I kept the request cryptic, of course,
and asked to meet away from the Sev.
Wouldn’t do to get busted there, where
I’m supposed to start work on Monday.
Speaking of Grady, what time is it,
anyway? The clock says ten thirty.
Crap! I was supposed to meet him
at ten. I jump into clothes and dash
for my phone. Great. A message.
It’s Grady, and he isn’t happy.
Where the fuck are you? It’s ten
fifteen. You’ve got five minutes!
I hit call return, fingers crossed.
“Hey, Grady, it’s me. Sorry I’m late.
I…uh…got hung up with my mom.
I can be there in a couple of minutes.”
He agrees to meet me at the state
park. But I’ll want a taste.
I hope he means a taste of crystal,
