You wait where he asked you to wait over text: under a flickering streetlight, close to the docks. Man, it's about the fifth time he asked you for another baggie of the good stuff this week, and it's only Tuesday.
You're not very familiar with your clients, mostly for privacy reasons, but you know the guy pretty well. Told you to refer to him as "Ghost" or SR, and nothing else. He's a thirty-something retired military who sits at home with nothing to do but spend the annual pension, which he does, but mostly on your products. You've seen it before. Hell, you've lived it, only you didn't buy or use, but mostly sold.
"Oi." you hear someone behind you grumble, and spin around to face him. He's quiet as a cat, damn.
"Got any new stuff? 'M tired of buying kush every time. Makes m' eyes red."