the intrepid tale of how i nearly got shot in the head. sort of.
it is a little known fact that i enjoy partaking in the occasional spliff. people are often quite shocked to learn this as my immaculate appearance and dedicated attitude to working hard and living clean is well known but it is true. The occasional marijuana cigarette relaxes me and allows me to wind down after a hard day in the lab experimenting on people and writing my groundbreaking psychological theses that will one day spread my fame far and wide.
Yesterday I was alarmed to discover that our supply of weed had run dry and a phonecall to the dealer was in order. Saba and I went to meet him at the usual meeting place and as is normal got into his silver mini metro. The idea is that it looks less suspicious if someone gets into the car, the car drives ten yards up the road and then the person gets out again rather than discretely completing the transaction through the driver's window.
This was not the guy that normally sells to us. However, we did not have to wonder why our normal dealer had been replaced for very long. After pleasantries had been exchanged and drugs had been received he clued us in on his partner's absence.
"You know the guy who normally delivers to you?" He said, half shouting over the obnoxiously loud bhangra vomited forth from his speakers. "he can't deliver round here anymore, he got shot at last time he drove down this road."
Saba and I exchanged glances.
Well that's really comforting to know.
"It was in broad daylight too, about 5 o'clock. I've seen the little tits clocking me as i drove past but they're not going to say anything."
Considering I felt like I had just become a disposable extra in a 50 Cent video I can't say that the fact that no one was going to SAY anything was very comforting as I was more concerned about the hail of bullets that I could now visualise perforating my head several times for the sake of a bag of fucking skunk.
The fact that the dealer was driving like David Coulthard and almost slamming into the back bumper of every car that we approached did little to calm my nerves.
LET US OUT LET US OUT LET US OUT LET US OUT
When we were finally ejected, shaking, from the car a large distance from my flat (the fucker had driven about a 15 minute walk from my house in 30 seconds) i got a chance to have a proper look at the bag of weed that we had risked our lives for.
Blatantly underweight.
Bastard.
Yesterday I was alarmed to discover that our supply of weed had run dry and a phonecall to the dealer was in order. Saba and I went to meet him at the usual meeting place and as is normal got into his silver mini metro. The idea is that it looks less suspicious if someone gets into the car, the car drives ten yards up the road and then the person gets out again rather than discretely completing the transaction through the driver's window.
This was not the guy that normally sells to us. However, we did not have to wonder why our normal dealer had been replaced for very long. After pleasantries had been exchanged and drugs had been received he clued us in on his partner's absence.
"You know the guy who normally delivers to you?" He said, half shouting over the obnoxiously loud bhangra vomited forth from his speakers. "he can't deliver round here anymore, he got shot at last time he drove down this road."
Saba and I exchanged glances.
Well that's really comforting to know.
"It was in broad daylight too, about 5 o'clock. I've seen the little tits clocking me as i drove past but they're not going to say anything."
Considering I felt like I had just become a disposable extra in a 50 Cent video I can't say that the fact that no one was going to SAY anything was very comforting as I was more concerned about the hail of bullets that I could now visualise perforating my head several times for the sake of a bag of fucking skunk.
The fact that the dealer was driving like David Coulthard and almost slamming into the back bumper of every car that we approached did little to calm my nerves.
LET US OUT LET US OUT LET US OUT LET US OUT
When we were finally ejected, shaking, from the car a large distance from my flat (the fucker had driven about a 15 minute walk from my house in 30 seconds) i got a chance to have a proper look at the bag of weed that we had risked our lives for.
Blatantly underweight.
Bastard.