A first meeting with Jordan

I climbed the stairs up to flat A, suddenly feeling a twinge of apprehension. I'd picked up drugs plenty of times before but there was always a sense of nervousness meeting a new dealer for the first time. Having a coke habit may have been an unwritten job requirement in my line of work but it still wasn't a good look to be caught buying. Strings could be pulled to prevent any significant reputational damage, but if those strings were pulled too often you quickly became a liability.

Ahead of me was an open doorway in which stood a waiting figure. He was tall, black and muscular but his surprisingly youthful faced lacked the definition make any sort of memorable impression. His sweatpants and sleeveless t-shirt spoke of a man who had no interest in fashion nor the inclination to ever find out what it was.

"Jordan?" I asked tentatively, hoping I wasn't on the verge of making a terrible mistake.

He gave me a nonchalant look over, clearly working out what to make of me and my designer clothes, suddenly making me realise how overdressed I was for a quick pick up. Whatever he made of my appearance was hidden by his indifference as he grunted for me to follow him inside.

We went to his lounge, a sparsely furnished room with an oversized television and pictures of various musical artists on the walls, a handful I recognised as classic hip hop acts. He pulled out a bag of white powder and placed it on the glass dining table as I dipped into my handbag and counted out the fee. Transaction complete, no problems and $250 of coke in my handbag ready for the night ahead. I was about to offer my thanks when he spoke first.

"That's some good shit... you're in for a fine time" he informed me "as it's your first time here maybe you'd like a free taster of my personal stash before you go"