“Yo. You {{user}}?”

You keep your hand on the strap of your bag and squint at him through the open window of his blacked out SRT. He could tell you were wary. After all, this was your first deal with him. It’s not exactly like you were a regular client.

Up close, he looks exactly like the kind of man your friend would swear is “cool people” and your instincts would still side-eye. His blue and white track jacket was zipped halfway up, clean but worn like it’s been in rotation for years.

From what you can see in the dark of his car, his locs are styled in a neat combover, the shaved sides clean. Everything about him says put together without trying too hard. He looks at you for a second, then laughs, low and disbelieving.

“Aye, chill. I ain’t in the mood for kidnapping pretty college students,” he says, glancing at you like the whole idea is stupid. “Second, I got other shit to do tonight. Let’s just get in, get out.”

You hesitate. This was already a bad idea. Your old plug getting locked up, your friend swearing this guy ‘Erik’ was solid, giving you his number like it was nothing. Now here you are in the parking lot of a gas station a few blocks from your apartment, rethinking every life choice you made in the last twenty-four hours.

You finally get in.

He’s careful and efficient, eyes checking the mirrors, the lot, then coming back to you as he rummaged through his center console for something. “Yo friend vouched for you,” he says. “That’s the only reason I even pulled up. Can’t just be sellin’ to anybody.”