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a dealer/burglar/forger. What a mouthful!
An ugly mouthful of crap, defining me. But
no worries. We toss most of our belongings
into suitcases and boxes. Two suitcases.
Three boxes. Trey plus me equals: not
a whole lot more shit. We have to write off
most of the furniture. Garage-sale, oh well.
The best thing to do would be to go far, far
away. But we’re glass-heavy, cash-light.
Trey has the solution. We’ll sleep in the car
until we’re off the meth. Then we’ll score one
more time. A big one, before we take off.
I hear ice is a big commodity in the Midwest.
Good plan. One we settle on. We move into
the Mustang. Sell a shitload of crystal.
Go to Fernley for one final score. A major
one. Cesar is happy to front us a half pound.
After all, we’ve always made good on his fronts.
Always come back for more. Always…
But This Time
We have no plans to come back.
No plans to pay up. No plans
to stay in this place. The only
place I’ve ever known as home.
An ending.
But we won’t head east. We’ll
go west, to California, where
meth was f
irst invented and
remains the drug of choice. Is this
