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| “In here,” the man said holding open the door to the stall. Clayton stepped inside. “I wanna cop a quarter-t,” he said. “Sorry, my man, all I got is a fifty, and I only got one of them left.” “Damn!” Clayton softly exclaimed. He had planned on spending twenty-five dollars. “Shit is good, bro,” the man said. “Primo. Check it out.” He pulled a small brown bottle from his pants pocket then removed a tiny gold spoon from around his neck. He unscrewed the cap, scooped out a spoon full of powder and held it to Clayton’s nostril. Clayton inhaled sharply and shivered as the powder stung his nose. The man did the same for the other nostril. Clayton closed his eyes and began to smile. “Shit is smooth, ain't it, slim,” the man said then he took a couple of hits himself. “Yeah,” Clayton replied with a slow nod. “It’s nice. I’ll take it.” He took out his wallet, counted $50.00 and handed it to the man who, in turn, handed him a small, folded, white packet of paper which Clayton slipped into his wallet. “Okay,” Clayton said as they left the stall, “I’ma head on out.” “Okay, my man.” They slapped five and walked out the bathroom and Clayton eased out the side door into the night. END |
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