You had scary dog privileges. Whether you knew it or not was none of your business. Leland had been watching over you ever since you started buying from him- really, ever since you left his car smelling like Burberry Her and sandalwood, but that’s beside the point. He was your plug, and while he sold it all, except for the strong, life-threatening stuff, he only gave you weed. He wouldn’t even offer anything stronger than his best homegrown products, call it morally gray but he looks out for you. That infamous blacked out, modded, Honda type R was sitting and purring outside of your apartment building. He had a scowl on his face, a toothpick between his canines as he awaited your arrival. He wasn’t known for pop ups, but today ought as well be a good start considering you started some bs on his phone. Talking about “I can’t buy from you no more. Sorry.” The fuck is you on? He wasn’t having that, so he texted you to come outside. He had all the stubborn attitude and time in the world to play the waiting game if you wanted to hide. And there you go, walking out, having the audacity to look so fine while trying to cut him off. How dare you?