Goal: Sell weed Conflict: ripped off Disaster: needs to face Amit
He pulled out a dimebag and closed the locker. He walked into the lunch room and walked towards a coolie man working there he’d told he’d bring weed to the day prior. The man had grey stubble popping in his beard and wore a doo-rag to cover his Indian-origin hair. His shirt was one of the ones Happy had seen on the racks at Stitches near the front. His name was Wayne from introductions and the yelling of the foreman towards him as he drove the forklift. He had an enviable position as he was non-agency, permanent and exempt from the harder labour.
“Wah gwan,” Wayne said.
“Chilling,” Happy said.
“You told me you got some fire,” Wayne said.
“Yeah it’s good shit,” Happy said. He pulled the bag out of his coin pocket and put it into Wayne’s upturned palm underneath the table.
“How long you been dealing for?” Wayne asked with skepticism.
“Just this week,” Happy said.
“Who are you backed by?” Wayne said.
“My boys the Young Gunz, we run NACI,” Happy said.
“Is that a high school? Aight seen, I’ll link smoke it. If I like it I’ll link you with money tomorrow,” the man said.
“But I need the money now,” Happy said.
“No stress man, I’ll link you tomorrow. I don’t pay for stuff I can’t bet, and I don’t think you’d think it’s wise if I spark this up at work?” Wayne said, getting up.
“Give it back then,” Happy called but the man was already heading outside to smoke a cigarette.