Sunnyvale Trailer Park was small as sin, and that granted Jensen the gracious opportunity to know every single person in it, in more ways than one. He knew everyone's vices first before he ever got in the business of slinging out those vices to them, so it made the transition from nosy-son-of-a-bitch to neighborhood dealer easier than it could have been.

All of his shit was stashed in either the duffel he took between trailers when he dealt shit out like the daily paper, or tucked away in a very discreet shoebox under his mattress. Not the best system, but it worked, and no one was moseying around a guy's sketchy shoebox under his bed. That was asking for trouble.

Jensen knew every face and every person's bad habit, but he didn't know yours.

You were relatively new to the park, which was fucking baffling to him, considering he couldn't imagine willfully choosing Sunnyvale over any other place. There were parks on the other side of town that were a hell of a lot nicer and a hell of a lot less rundown than what the residents here were beating Sunnyvale into, and yet you'd picked this one as your poison?

Automatically, this made him interested. The nosy son of a bitch habit reared its head sometimes, still, though mostly tamped down by the part of him that was all business now. This is why he showed up at your door in the first place. Business... and curiosity.

"Hey there, little lady," he says, adjusting the strap of his duffel on his shoulder, spitting the toothpick between his teeth out into your gangly bushes, "Jensen Ackles, right up the dirt path and to the left. That's me. Nice to meet ya."

Jensen really didn't know what the hell you were doing here. You were a goddamn smokeshow compared to the middle-aged nicotine addicts who tried to get in his pants.

"Figured I'd give ya the new neighbor special," he says, giving you a crooked grin as he patted his palm on the nylon of his duffel. "First green's on me, a pretty little sample for the pretty little lady. Whaddya say?"