Phish Tales PART 2
When he awoke, he saw it was light. Carey was awake and talking to someone on her digicom cell phone device. She seemed to be getting directions to somewhere. Star was awake and working clipping pieces of wire from a coil he had wrapped around a pen. Onyx was fast asleep and partway on Troy’s legs which in turn were pins and needles numb. He saw Carey pass something to Mark, who in turn offered it to Troy without a word.
It was a smoking potato. The top had been poked by a pencil to its middle where it was attached by a joining hole on the side for an air release and a hole lengthwise to make the pipe tube. It was filled with half lit kine bud marijuana; light green and smelling to be a good batch of outdoor homegrown. Not bad, but only about sixty an eighth of an ounce if you bought it in that quantity on lot. He took a long inhale and relaxed. It had been a long time since he smoked pot, and a few minutes later he was too stoned to be of much company. Carey turned to him and decided to try asking him about his origins.
Troy decided it best just to hand him the ten page paper he had written to give his mental health lawyer and the judge at the hospital a few days prior. She read it in silence, now and again stopping to remark “wow.”
Star chimed in from his spot in the back. “Hey , wanna learn mail?”
Troy didn’t understand and gave him a puzzled look. Star laughed “Your fried aren’t you? Here, I’ll teach you how to make chain mail to sell. “
He held up a bracelet of metal links to eye level between them. It was made up small enjoined metal circles linked together in ones and twos horizontally. Star showed him how to wrap the metal around something round. Then he began clipping the coiled wire in pieces that were open ended circles of the wire. He then used pliers to link them together as many as five wide in patterns to create chain mail. Troy was impressed by the amount of time he had invested in various pieces sitting around the van floor.
“You can sell this for twenty bucks on lot. Took me two hours!”
“Right on, Star.”
Moments later they pulled into a Denny’s parking lot. The lot was filled with kids Troy recognized from the show both entering the restaurant and pulling up in cars from behind them. They were a group of about fifteen meeting for lunch planned via cell phone enroute to their next show. Troy had overheard Carey saying they were going to a Further Show somewhere near Pittsburgh.
Though he was impressed by the crowd, Troy was disappointed in himself for having gotten so stoned. He had not smoked pot in months and was too baked to socialize. This was an awkward spot for a kid with no money to eat among fifteen new acquaintances who he depended on. He was way too paranoid and uptight about fitting in still. It sure was taking him time to mellow slow to this lifestyle.
The waitress seemed to know them, and gave them special service. Ignoring his nervous shyness, the group though saying little to him during the meal taken at two eight foot adjoined tables did feed him. Kids passed a plate down the row, several of them each giving him a little of their food. He ordered a coffee and stilled himself in the hope he would sober up enough to be any kind of whit. But right now the pot had him dumb.
About the time he felt himself sobering, they were exiting the building. The meal all in all had lasted about an hour. Two kids had smoked a bowl under the table after the meal, passing it between them under the table. It was easily concealed by the cigarette smoke in the group. They were all discussing sleeping plans, and Troy realized he was going to be asked for cash soon.
They got back on the bus and Troy asked where they were going. Mark answered monosyllabically “Camp.”
They were in Pennsylvania, and a few quiet hours later began to wind out on smaller country roads. Finally they turned off into a deep woods area in farm country. They stopped by a small barn house apparently to gain permission to camp. Mark got out, and went inside the building. He returned and climbed back into the driver seat saying simply “ten bucks”.
Carey handed a ten bill to him.
They stopped the bus on the left hand side of the dirt path a few hundred feet further. It was already growing dusk, and he saw that there were other buses there and a handful of tents from various campers set up on the way down to a small lake at the bottom of the grassy hill they were on. Troy was tired, and it was obvious that Carey wanted nothing to do with him having some business to take care of with Jim and Onyx. They set up a tent on the hill to share. Mark announced that he and Joel and Star could share the van to sleep.
Troy joined a few other college freshman aged campers that night for a few hours listening to Star flirt expertly with the girls. He wished he could be so outgoing, but he was dreadfully bad at small talk. Star strummed an acoustic guitar as one of the guys in the group joined him on bongos. Troy missed his guitar.
The night was clear, and all of the stars were visible in the fresh country air, and he soon relaxed into a peaceful campground mode. That night he and Star and Mark talked and laughed sharing stories until the early morning hours.
In the morning, Troy removed a bar of soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste from his bag and walked toward the lake. The lake was really a very slow moving river it seemed. It was place at the bottom of a grassy knoll a few hundred feet wide. The lake was maybe a hundred feet wide and stretched lengthwise off into the distance more than a hundred yards off. As Troy grew close it, he saw a creek source near the far southeastern end with a dirt path leading into the woods beyond sight. He walked that direction. He thanked himself for having the wisdom to wear swim trunks to bathe in.
The path turned out to be a steep grade made up of large boulders to grip on the way down. At the bottom of the path Troy heard a loud whooshing. He turned the final corner of the path and emerged into an area with a crystal clear twenty foot waterfall which emptied into a clean water pool of about thirty feet wide. He stepped into the water and had a moment.
Here he was in the middle of nowhere, with friends at every turn, excitement untold and now natural peaceful beauty to bathe in as if in the richest of spa resorts. This was living!! He stepped into the clear cold water and lathered himself. When he was satisfied, he stepped into the falling water. It rushed over his body sending chills and serenely cleansing him of all dirt and soap.
Half an hour later, he reluctantly walked back toward the grassy hill to rejoin the group at the van. He tried to tell them of the waterfall, but they were all so busy packing the van. It seemed they had met someone here who had a motel to share and Mark was anxious to be off to it having a sore back from the night before.
They boarded the bus, and with Carey giving directions from the shotgun seat half an hour later entered a small Red Roof Inn. The digicom bleeped on and off as frustrated, she relayed the directions to the obviously fatigued Mark.
“I can’t wait. I’m too fucking tired.” He piped up.
They pulled in to the parking lot, and immediately Mark turned to Troy. “Hey I need as much gas as you can give, plus ten for the motel.”
“How about twenty gas? That enough?”
Mark smiled at the offer which was in Troy’s unrealistic fog way too much and said “that’ll be fine.”
He handed over the cash and helped mark to follow the five others into a small room with two queen size beds and a table. There was a new member to the group who was in their room. He had been met at the motel by one of the kids, and had agreed to share reservations with them. He would share the one bed. The other would be shared by Carey and Jim, Onyx, Star, and Troy taking the floor.
An hour later they lay in silence. The TV was on low, and Troy was watching a for the first time ever a cartoon called “South Park”. Around four in the afternoon he fell asleep to the droning television and the heavy breath of his bus crew. He would not awake until the following morning.
The clock on the nightstand between the rooms two bed read nine o’clock. Mark was missing, but the others were still asleep in the beds. Troy went outside to smoke his morning cigarette. Walking on to the second floor veranda, he saw Mark bending over the driver side interior seat of the van, throwing trash into a trash bag.
“Hey, Troy, give me a hand?!”
Troy was impressed by Mark, realizing how much of a father role he played in taking the driver role of the group. The tape deck announced “Tell you about that driver that lives inside my head. He starts me up and stops me, and puts me into bed…”
Sure did. Troy assisted Mark for the next half hour in detailing the van which had just come across the country going east and was now headed back. It was filthy. Mark opened up to him “I’m sorry but I don’t think we are going to be able to take you any further. Carey is complaining, and you can see we have limited space.”
The look on his face was that of sincere worry and regret at having to make this choice. Troy felt sorry for him. He had made his bed, and he would have to lie in it.
“That’s FINE,” he reassured Mark wiping the dust from the console cup holder in the passenger seat “Thank you for getting me to THIS show!!”
Mark smiled at him a genuine smile of relief “You are going to do fine, kid. You have respect. These guys are lazy, look at me! I’m cleaning this damn bitch all by myself. Someone will give you a ride.”
“Thanks.”
It was a bright summer morning and the parking lot was half empty an hour before the groups checkout time of eleven o’clock. According to Mark the show was about an hour and a half from here yet. He had said that they needed only to stop at the grocery store and get the makings for veggie bean burritos to sell. Troy would put the rest of his money in with the others and they would make a group effort to turn over the money for the next show. Carey had tickets she had traded for with one of the kids at Denny’s and would be going in to the show. The new guy they had met at the motel had tickets as well. Troy watched in dismay as Star traded an eighth of pot he had gotten somewhere the night prior for a ticket. It looked as though Troy and Mark were going to be holding up their own end of things outside in the lot again.
The group from his room and another group from one of the other rooms formed outside near the parked cars. Dan had brought a few different drums and congas to sell at the show. He made them with woven hemp wraps for straps and stretching tight leather skins over their earthy wooden exteriors. A small drum circle session worked for about a half an hour while they got situated in their respective vehicles for the trip to the show.
The grocery store was a short stop about five blocks down the road, and they were off to the show. The arena turned out to have a dirt parking lot set away from it on an embankment that faced its side entrances. The gates and general admission crowd was visible standing at the edge of the lot on shakedown. It seemed to be a lot more relaxed than Camden had been, and there were a lot more drug dealers.
Mark parked on the southwest end of shakedown only one row from the center of activity and immediately began to make the burritos from plastic containers he set up in an assembly line from just inside the sliding bus door. Carey and Jim, Star and Onyx almost immediately took off. Mark made a deal with Troy to put together the veggie wraps if he would sell them. They would have about a hundred of them total. Troy agreed.
“Go ahead and take a walk, check it out! They’ll be ready in about half an hour, “he said licking his fingers of refried bean substance that had spilled.
One quick survey of the lot showed that it was a younger crowd with a lot less elders than had been at Camden. He wondered where they had all gone when the lights went out the night previous. Shakedown was three times longer than at Camden, however stretching about a thousand feet. There were a lot more food vendors, and Troy worried about being able to compete with them. He decided to seek employment with one of the competitors. The old saying “if you can’t beat em, join em” came to mind.
On the corner where the path lead to the front gates of the arena was a stand that was made up of a square of about eight tables around behind which was parked a box truck. The owner and several other dreadlocked kids were unloading everything from cases of soda and veggies to whole pizza ovens. Troy watched from a distance for about five minutes, and then made his move. He walked up to the middle eastern man who seemed to be barking orders to the workers. He extended a hand to the man, saying simply “Troy.”
The man immediately looked at him said simply “pick up that case and move it over here, will you” with a scowl on his face.
Troy immediately did so. The man then turned and shook his hand. “Russo.” He replied.
“Russo, good to meet you…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, am busy! What you want?!” the man barked rudely.
“I am broke and need work, was wondering if you might have the need for help.”
Without hesitation Russo replied, “Yeah. Pay you five dollars an hour. Pick up that case and bring it here.”
Troy was startled at just how sharp, commanding and rude the man had been, but once again he followed directions. This barking of orders and shuffling of goods continued for about half an hour when one of the group of dready kids standing on the corner walked up to him.
“Don’t fucking listen to Russo, he’ll fucking screw you over. He’s a Prick. A real “grade A” asshole.”
“Really?” Troy responded, a quizzical half believing blank stare crossing his face.
“yeah.”
That decided Troy on the rude man. He acted with the exact same sharpness with which he had been treated. He walked over to Russo and told him he was leaving that he had business to attend to. Russo grinned and replied “yeah, yeah, I owe you five dollars. Come see me later. Move!” and he brushed past with a box of pizza ingredients.
Troy spat on the ground and walked back into the relieving atmosphere of the bustling shakedown. He walked past the van once to see what was on the southwest end of the lot. It seemed that a lot of stores had set up head shops on that end with everything from counterfeit Oakley’s to Guatemalan handbags. The air everywhere was thick with the rich smell of patchouli, sandalwood and spots of sage. Finally done window shopping, Troy returned to the van.
“Sell these, and when you’re done, you can keep twenty bucks for yourself. Two bucks a wrap. Feed the hungry kids.” He instructed handing over forty wraps in a baggy.
“No problem.” Troy replied condition grounded, but determined to try. He saw Carey out of the corner of his eye exchanging hugs with their neighbors. He was jealous, and this was going to be a long night without tickets again.
Though he began selling them up and down working incredibly hard at his pitch, by eight o ‘clock nightfall was approaching and he still had twenty wraps in the bag. Troy was hungry, and stopped and spent ten of the forty he had made on soda and two slices of pizza. Finishing these, he turned back toward the direction of the van. The drug boys’ boom box man was blaring from his shoulder rap in this direction and on the corner was a rare sight of the seediest of the dealers all gathered on one corner. Troy guessed they were worth a hundred thousand easy this night alone. As he passed them he heard one yell out “SIX UP!!”
Even so, a kid from a few feet across waved to Troy to get his attention. He held in his hand an eye drops bottle, the common way to carry liquid LSD.
“Give ya’ a double puddle for four wraps!” he said to Troy “Its great stuff.”
“Okay!” Troy said without hesitation.
The top of the eye drops bottle came off in less than a second and the kids grabbed Troy’s hand, holding it palm up and open toward him. Into it he squeezed a small quarter sized amount of purple liquid.
“Eat up!!” the kid demanded.
Troy held his wet palm up to his mouth and licked off the liquid acid. It tasted sharp and bitter, and he immediately had butterflies in his stomach. Awkwardly now, he dipped his hand into the bag to retrieve the veggie bean burritos. He counted them into the kids’ outstretched palm.
“On, two, three, FOUR!”
They shook hands and as Troy walked away the kid yelled “Have a good show!!!”
Troy yelled back with verve “Have a good show!! WooooooHoooo!”.
It was a smoking potato. The top had been poked by a pencil to its middle where it was attached by a joining hole on the side for an air release and a hole lengthwise to make the pipe tube. It was filled with half lit kine bud marijuana; light green and smelling to be a good batch of outdoor homegrown. Not bad, but only about sixty an eighth of an ounce if you bought it in that quantity on lot. He took a long inhale and relaxed. It had been a long time since he smoked pot, and a few minutes later he was too stoned to be of much company. Carey turned to him and decided to try asking him about his origins.
Troy decided it best just to hand him the ten page paper he had written to give his mental health lawyer and the judge at the hospital a few days prior. She read it in silence, now and again stopping to remark “wow.”
Star chimed in from his spot in the back. “Hey , wanna learn mail?”
Troy didn’t understand and gave him a puzzled look. Star laughed “Your fried aren’t you? Here, I’ll teach you how to make chain mail to sell. “
He held up a bracelet of metal links to eye level between them. It was made up small enjoined metal circles linked together in ones and twos horizontally. Star showed him how to wrap the metal around something round. Then he began clipping the coiled wire in pieces that were open ended circles of the wire. He then used pliers to link them together as many as five wide in patterns to create chain mail. Troy was impressed by the amount of time he had invested in various pieces sitting around the van floor.
“You can sell this for twenty bucks on lot. Took me two hours!”
“Right on, Star.”
Moments later they pulled into a Denny’s parking lot. The lot was filled with kids Troy recognized from the show both entering the restaurant and pulling up in cars from behind them. They were a group of about fifteen meeting for lunch planned via cell phone enroute to their next show. Troy had overheard Carey saying they were going to a Further Show somewhere near Pittsburgh.
Though he was impressed by the crowd, Troy was disappointed in himself for having gotten so stoned. He had not smoked pot in months and was too baked to socialize. This was an awkward spot for a kid with no money to eat among fifteen new acquaintances who he depended on. He was way too paranoid and uptight about fitting in still. It sure was taking him time to mellow slow to this lifestyle.
The waitress seemed to know them, and gave them special service. Ignoring his nervous shyness, the group though saying little to him during the meal taken at two eight foot adjoined tables did feed him. Kids passed a plate down the row, several of them each giving him a little of their food. He ordered a coffee and stilled himself in the hope he would sober up enough to be any kind of whit. But right now the pot had him dumb.
About the time he felt himself sobering, they were exiting the building. The meal all in all had lasted about an hour. Two kids had smoked a bowl under the table after the meal, passing it between them under the table. It was easily concealed by the cigarette smoke in the group. They were all discussing sleeping plans, and Troy realized he was going to be asked for cash soon.
They got back on the bus and Troy asked where they were going. Mark answered monosyllabically “Camp.”
They were in Pennsylvania, and a few quiet hours later began to wind out on smaller country roads. Finally they turned off into a deep woods area in farm country. They stopped by a small barn house apparently to gain permission to camp. Mark got out, and went inside the building. He returned and climbed back into the driver seat saying simply “ten bucks”.
Carey handed a ten bill to him.
They stopped the bus on the left hand side of the dirt path a few hundred feet further. It was already growing dusk, and he saw that there were other buses there and a handful of tents from various campers set up on the way down to a small lake at the bottom of the grassy hill they were on. Troy was tired, and it was obvious that Carey wanted nothing to do with him having some business to take care of with Jim and Onyx. They set up a tent on the hill to share. Mark announced that he and Joel and Star could share the van to sleep.
Troy joined a few other college freshman aged campers that night for a few hours listening to Star flirt expertly with the girls. He wished he could be so outgoing, but he was dreadfully bad at small talk. Star strummed an acoustic guitar as one of the guys in the group joined him on bongos. Troy missed his guitar.
The night was clear, and all of the stars were visible in the fresh country air, and he soon relaxed into a peaceful campground mode. That night he and Star and Mark talked and laughed sharing stories until the early morning hours.
In the morning, Troy removed a bar of soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste from his bag and walked toward the lake. The lake was really a very slow moving river it seemed. It was place at the bottom of a grassy knoll a few hundred feet wide. The lake was maybe a hundred feet wide and stretched lengthwise off into the distance more than a hundred yards off. As Troy grew close it, he saw a creek source near the far southeastern end with a dirt path leading into the woods beyond sight. He walked that direction. He thanked himself for having the wisdom to wear swim trunks to bathe in.
The path turned out to be a steep grade made up of large boulders to grip on the way down. At the bottom of the path Troy heard a loud whooshing. He turned the final corner of the path and emerged into an area with a crystal clear twenty foot waterfall which emptied into a clean water pool of about thirty feet wide. He stepped into the water and had a moment.
Here he was in the middle of nowhere, with friends at every turn, excitement untold and now natural peaceful beauty to bathe in as if in the richest of spa resorts. This was living!! He stepped into the clear cold water and lathered himself. When he was satisfied, he stepped into the falling water. It rushed over his body sending chills and serenely cleansing him of all dirt and soap.
Half an hour later, he reluctantly walked back toward the grassy hill to rejoin the group at the van. He tried to tell them of the waterfall, but they were all so busy packing the van. It seemed they had met someone here who had a motel to share and Mark was anxious to be off to it having a sore back from the night before.
They boarded the bus, and with Carey giving directions from the shotgun seat half an hour later entered a small Red Roof Inn. The digicom bleeped on and off as frustrated, she relayed the directions to the obviously fatigued Mark.
“I can’t wait. I’m too fucking tired.” He piped up.
They pulled in to the parking lot, and immediately Mark turned to Troy. “Hey I need as much gas as you can give, plus ten for the motel.”
“How about twenty gas? That enough?”
Mark smiled at the offer which was in Troy’s unrealistic fog way too much and said “that’ll be fine.”
He handed over the cash and helped mark to follow the five others into a small room with two queen size beds and a table. There was a new member to the group who was in their room. He had been met at the motel by one of the kids, and had agreed to share reservations with them. He would share the one bed. The other would be shared by Carey and Jim, Onyx, Star, and Troy taking the floor.
An hour later they lay in silence. The TV was on low, and Troy was watching a for the first time ever a cartoon called “South Park”. Around four in the afternoon he fell asleep to the droning television and the heavy breath of his bus crew. He would not awake until the following morning.
The clock on the nightstand between the rooms two bed read nine o’clock. Mark was missing, but the others were still asleep in the beds. Troy went outside to smoke his morning cigarette. Walking on to the second floor veranda, he saw Mark bending over the driver side interior seat of the van, throwing trash into a trash bag.
“Hey, Troy, give me a hand?!”
Troy was impressed by Mark, realizing how much of a father role he played in taking the driver role of the group. The tape deck announced “Tell you about that driver that lives inside my head. He starts me up and stops me, and puts me into bed…”
Sure did. Troy assisted Mark for the next half hour in detailing the van which had just come across the country going east and was now headed back. It was filthy. Mark opened up to him “I’m sorry but I don’t think we are going to be able to take you any further. Carey is complaining, and you can see we have limited space.”
The look on his face was that of sincere worry and regret at having to make this choice. Troy felt sorry for him. He had made his bed, and he would have to lie in it.
“That’s FINE,” he reassured Mark wiping the dust from the console cup holder in the passenger seat “Thank you for getting me to THIS show!!”
Mark smiled at him a genuine smile of relief “You are going to do fine, kid. You have respect. These guys are lazy, look at me! I’m cleaning this damn bitch all by myself. Someone will give you a ride.”
“Thanks.”
It was a bright summer morning and the parking lot was half empty an hour before the groups checkout time of eleven o’clock. According to Mark the show was about an hour and a half from here yet. He had said that they needed only to stop at the grocery store and get the makings for veggie bean burritos to sell. Troy would put the rest of his money in with the others and they would make a group effort to turn over the money for the next show. Carey had tickets she had traded for with one of the kids at Denny’s and would be going in to the show. The new guy they had met at the motel had tickets as well. Troy watched in dismay as Star traded an eighth of pot he had gotten somewhere the night prior for a ticket. It looked as though Troy and Mark were going to be holding up their own end of things outside in the lot again.
The group from his room and another group from one of the other rooms formed outside near the parked cars. Dan had brought a few different drums and congas to sell at the show. He made them with woven hemp wraps for straps and stretching tight leather skins over their earthy wooden exteriors. A small drum circle session worked for about a half an hour while they got situated in their respective vehicles for the trip to the show.
The grocery store was a short stop about five blocks down the road, and they were off to the show. The arena turned out to have a dirt parking lot set away from it on an embankment that faced its side entrances. The gates and general admission crowd was visible standing at the edge of the lot on shakedown. It seemed to be a lot more relaxed than Camden had been, and there were a lot more drug dealers.
Mark parked on the southwest end of shakedown only one row from the center of activity and immediately began to make the burritos from plastic containers he set up in an assembly line from just inside the sliding bus door. Carey and Jim, Star and Onyx almost immediately took off. Mark made a deal with Troy to put together the veggie wraps if he would sell them. They would have about a hundred of them total. Troy agreed.
“Go ahead and take a walk, check it out! They’ll be ready in about half an hour, “he said licking his fingers of refried bean substance that had spilled.
One quick survey of the lot showed that it was a younger crowd with a lot less elders than had been at Camden. He wondered where they had all gone when the lights went out the night previous. Shakedown was three times longer than at Camden, however stretching about a thousand feet. There were a lot more food vendors, and Troy worried about being able to compete with them. He decided to seek employment with one of the competitors. The old saying “if you can’t beat em, join em” came to mind.
On the corner where the path lead to the front gates of the arena was a stand that was made up of a square of about eight tables around behind which was parked a box truck. The owner and several other dreadlocked kids were unloading everything from cases of soda and veggies to whole pizza ovens. Troy watched from a distance for about five minutes, and then made his move. He walked up to the middle eastern man who seemed to be barking orders to the workers. He extended a hand to the man, saying simply “Troy.”
The man immediately looked at him said simply “pick up that case and move it over here, will you” with a scowl on his face.
Troy immediately did so. The man then turned and shook his hand. “Russo.” He replied.
“Russo, good to meet you…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, am busy! What you want?!” the man barked rudely.
“I am broke and need work, was wondering if you might have the need for help.”
Without hesitation Russo replied, “Yeah. Pay you five dollars an hour. Pick up that case and bring it here.”
Troy was startled at just how sharp, commanding and rude the man had been, but once again he followed directions. This barking of orders and shuffling of goods continued for about half an hour when one of the group of dready kids standing on the corner walked up to him.
“Don’t fucking listen to Russo, he’ll fucking screw you over. He’s a Prick. A real “grade A” asshole.”
“Really?” Troy responded, a quizzical half believing blank stare crossing his face.
“yeah.”
That decided Troy on the rude man. He acted with the exact same sharpness with which he had been treated. He walked over to Russo and told him he was leaving that he had business to attend to. Russo grinned and replied “yeah, yeah, I owe you five dollars. Come see me later. Move!” and he brushed past with a box of pizza ingredients.
Troy spat on the ground and walked back into the relieving atmosphere of the bustling shakedown. He walked past the van once to see what was on the southwest end of the lot. It seemed that a lot of stores had set up head shops on that end with everything from counterfeit Oakley’s to Guatemalan handbags. The air everywhere was thick with the rich smell of patchouli, sandalwood and spots of sage. Finally done window shopping, Troy returned to the van.
“Sell these, and when you’re done, you can keep twenty bucks for yourself. Two bucks a wrap. Feed the hungry kids.” He instructed handing over forty wraps in a baggy.
“No problem.” Troy replied condition grounded, but determined to try. He saw Carey out of the corner of his eye exchanging hugs with their neighbors. He was jealous, and this was going to be a long night without tickets again.
Though he began selling them up and down working incredibly hard at his pitch, by eight o ‘clock nightfall was approaching and he still had twenty wraps in the bag. Troy was hungry, and stopped and spent ten of the forty he had made on soda and two slices of pizza. Finishing these, he turned back toward the direction of the van. The drug boys’ boom box man was blaring from his shoulder rap in this direction and on the corner was a rare sight of the seediest of the dealers all gathered on one corner. Troy guessed they were worth a hundred thousand easy this night alone. As he passed them he heard one yell out “SIX UP!!”
Even so, a kid from a few feet across waved to Troy to get his attention. He held in his hand an eye drops bottle, the common way to carry liquid LSD.
“Give ya’ a double puddle for four wraps!” he said to Troy “Its great stuff.”
“Okay!” Troy said without hesitation.
The top of the eye drops bottle came off in less than a second and the kids grabbed Troy’s hand, holding it palm up and open toward him. Into it he squeezed a small quarter sized amount of purple liquid.
“Eat up!!” the kid demanded.
Troy held his wet palm up to his mouth and licked off the liquid acid. It tasted sharp and bitter, and he immediately had butterflies in his stomach. Awkwardly now, he dipped his hand into the bag to retrieve the veggie bean burritos. He counted them into the kids’ outstretched palm.
“On, two, three, FOUR!”
They shook hands and as Troy walked away the kid yelled “Have a good show!!!”
Troy yelled back with verve “Have a good show!! WooooooHoooo!”.
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