You know what sucks? When the dude you buy from moves to some Podunk little town where people think Olive Garden is fancy and Skol is a delicacy. Rico, my ese, met some chick on OkCupid and moved to Royal Woods, Michigan, last year, and it was either commute for my fix or find a new dealer; guess which one my dumb ass chose?

The last time I was in Stupid Woods, I scored enough good good to keep me rolling for six months. Well, guess what: Six months came early, so on a blustery October day, I went back to Royal Blah.

It was raining when I rode in, which kind of matched my mood. I was stone cold sober and the only radio stations I could find were 101.1 Country and 106.6, Da Beat. I don't like rhinestone cowboys and I don't like grillz, so I said fuck it and listened to static. I stopped twice on the way: Once to piss, and another time to buy a Monster from some haji mart masquerading as a truck stop. It was piss warm and the big maharajah behind the counter had a big cold sore on his lip. "Messing with them lot lizards, eh?" I asked. He took my Monster and scanned it, his dour expression never changing. "You gotta wrap it up, Saleed. Put a rubber barrier between you and her, know what I'm saying?"

"Three dollars," he said.

I pulled a crumpled wad of ones out of my pants pocket and handed him three.

Anyway, I got into Dumbville at three. It was raining. The leaves were dull brown and wet. The place was ten times uglier than I remembered. Didn't I get mugged last time? Pretty sure I got left on someone's front lawn and I didn't have my coke when I woke up. I remember some girl with braces. Did she mug me? How pathetic! Got my shit handled by a girl. Gotta be quicker next time, Flagg1991. Should have sent her back to her dentist with her teeth in a sandwich bag.

What kind of shit town has kids running around robbing people? You don't even see that in Chicago.

Shaking my head, I pulled onto Rico's street and parked at the curb. Rico's place is a one story ranch house with brick around the front door. Looks like something from The Brady Bunch. I got out of the car, took a deep breath (Royal Suck stank especially bad that day), and went to the door. Rico opened on the second knock.

"Hey, mang, you got my stuff, mang?" I asked in my best Tony Montana.

Rico cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you talking like that?"

"This is how I talk to my Hispanic friends, mang."

"Knock it off," he said, grabbing a suitcase off an end table and handing it to me. I handed him an envelope full of money.

"Thanks, mang."

"Seriously, get the fuck out of my face." Shaking his head, he shut the door.

"Fuck you too," I said and dashed back to the car. Behind the wheel, I loaded up and took a trip to Happy Town, population me. I was so amped, I even turned on the rap station. Droppin' plates on yo ass, beyotch. Oh, wow, I feel good. I reached for my Monster, but alas, it was empty.

"Need some juice," I said. I pulled an illegal U-turn and started looking for a gas station or a grocery store. I think I ran over a dog. Or maybe it was a plastic bag.

I found a Save-a-Lot two miles away and parked next to a panel van with STANLY'S SIDING written across the side in red. Siding, huh? Here's your siding: I threw my door open and took a bite out of Stanly's paintjob.

Inside, I roamed around, losing my train of thought. Man, that bakery department smells good. I grabbed a loaf of bread and pressed it to my nose. I inhaled so deeply I almost snorted it. Damn. Yum.

Holding it to my nose like a breathing mask or some shit, I wandered off, and found myself in the ice cream isle. Some blonde bitch in a blue tank top was rummaging through one of the freezers. As I passed, I saw some Klondike Bars. Holy shit. I love those things!

I pushed blondie aside with a "Move, bitch," and grabbed a box.

"Excuse me?"

I took one out, opened it, and took a big bite. "You were in my way," I said around a cold mouthful.

"You are, like, so rude."

"But look what I have." I handed the box to her. "Want one?"

Shaking her head, she walked off. "More for me!" I called after her.

Some people. Wow. The nerve.

Munching my prize, I went over to the next asle. What was I looking for again? Frozen pizza? I could go for a Digiorno. The box says you put it on the oven rack, but the box is full of shit. I can't tell you how many of those things I've had melt through the rungs...and I can't tell you how many times I've knelt in front of an oven and eaten pizza soup with a spoon.

A pretty, shiny package caught my attention and I stopped to look at it. Something moved in my periphery, and I turned to see some girl in a plaid skirt looking through the fridge. I go back to looking at the pretty package, but I kept catching her looking at me. It was really freaking me out. Do they make narcs that young?

Finally, I turned. "Sorry, honey, you gotta be at least eighteen to ride the F train. What are you, five?"

Ooooh, if looks could kill. She balled her fists and snarled.

She had braces on her teeth.

It all came back to me.

"Oh, shit," I said, "they let you out? You musta had a decent attorney. Who's your parole officer? I might know him."

"I'm gonna get my dad and he's gonna kick your ass," she said.

"They let him out too? I thought he'd get the chair for sure." I laugh to myself. "Hey, hey...wouldn't that be shocking?"

I lost control and fell to my knees. Damn, I'm good.

Little Miss Mugger didn't appreciate my humor, though; she wheeled around and stormed away. "Hey, honey, where you going? I was just lightning the mood!"

I slapped my knee and cried down my shirt. I should be on TV.

"Hey, are you planning to pay for those Klondike Bars?" someone asked from behind me.

"You gonna make me?" I turned, and froze. You ever see a security guard so big he could moonlight as a Mac truck?

I did.

"Yeah, I'll pay."