Power on Drugs

Chapter 2

Who met Nick at the door was a tall black man easily over six and a half feet tall which gave an intimidating aura to many but Nick only seemed unimpressed. He had tattoos from the neck down and he dressed entirely in a bloody crimson. He even had a book bag with ruby patterns. He also had dreadlocks but unlike Brooke's, his weren't nearly as long and were dyed red with orange tips. 

"What's up Rhino?" asked Nick as he let him in.

The large figure stepped inside and sat on the couch while he took off his bag and emptied its contents on the coffee table. Only after he finished taking out the ziplock bags of weed, pills, and powders did he bother to look up at Nick. But then he reached down and pulled out the last item from the ruby bag: a jet black pistol. Only then did he respond to Nick's inquiry.

"Nuthin much just trappin' and shit," responded Rhino, "By the way dat stick is for you,"

"Naw I don't need a gun dude. I don't even sell in the hood," said Nick.

"Listen lil' nigga," started the stereotypical gangster, "Atlanta be catching up to Chiraq murder wise. I know kids your age with the double the body count that you have. And I ain't talkin' about these instathots."

"Yo just tell me what I'm selling," said Nick dismissively.

"Ok don't say I didn't tell you so," said Rhino as he pointed to the drug pile to his right, "Flip all the tree and pills that you can in the day then make your way to Iris at night so you can sell all that molly and L to those hipster kids."

"That sounds lovely. Brooke is in the shower by the way," said Nick with a cheeky grin.

Rhino smirked and shook his head as Nick turned his back to him and headed back into his room. Once inside he grabbed his own cat decorated book bag from his closet then walked to his bedside where two phones were being charged. One of them was the newest iPhone (it had a superman case) while the other was a cracked android. After unlocking the super phone he dialed his friend. It took three rings before he answered.

"Sup faggot," said Nick.

"I know this Steven Universe look alike isn't calling me a faggot," responded a nasally voice over the phone.

"I mean getting raised by rock lesbians isn't so bad," said Nick in between spouts of laughter.

"Bro what's the move?" asked his friend.

"Come through and I'll fill you in," said Nick.

"Aight bet," said Enrique before hanging up.

Nick took his time as he meticulously packed his essential tools for of his trade. This included a scale, small baggies, a knife, his phones and his wallet. Feeling semi-prepared to handle anything the world could throw at him, Nick stepped outside and walked back to towards the couch. He was met by a blunt with his name literally written on it in white sharpie resting casually on the gun. He already knew what this meant; if he smoked it then he had to take the gun with him. As he debated whether or not he should do it, moans from the bathroom door grew in volume. So Nick plopped himself on the couch and turned on the TV again as he took the blunt and began to light it.

"That guy sure knows how to be persuasive," said Nick as he took the first few puffs.

He tried to flip through different channels but the result still remained the same. The faint outlines of a show would appear then meld back to static. Nick prepared to get up to see what was wrong with the television when suddenly the face of the girl from his dream morphed from the static. Her fiery eye winked at him.

"What the fuuuuuuck?" said Nick with a wide open jaw. He looked from the weed cigar to the TV as if trying to figure out whether or not the blunt was laced.