How M. Died

She ran back up to her little studio apartment above the bar her friend owned in Clinton Hill and measured out another $20 bag. she wasn't going to make money in this Kilo either and almost grimaced that what she'd probably have to do in lieu of payment, but she'd done worse. She muttered to herself as she pulled a baggy out the drawer, that she should pre-make her $20 bags for the night.

She rationalized that if she didn't make them all first, she could go back to not cutting it with fetty; but she always did. She measured out an 8th of a gram of coke and then mixed in an 8th gram of Fentanyl Back down to the bar, it had got really crowded in the last 10-15 minutes, and she had to push to get to her group, bumping up against people dancing and gyrating she thought about how fat her ass was, but then someone grabbed it half way through the main floor, so call it wash.

"Hey, where's Jackson?" she asked T. as she got to their corner.

"I dunno, I think he left, found some other dealer."

"Fuck, that nigga better not do this to me again."

T. shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Yea... I dunno M. I think he knows you cut your shit with fetty."

"No, fuck that, I told you he does both anyways, so he can't tell." She glanced around and then broke open the bag she wasn't selling now and scooped out a bunch on a chipped pink pinky nail and snorted it right there.

"What the fuck, at least go to bathroom, I know the owner of the bar wants to fuck you and he lets you deal, but c'mon!"

M. rolled her eyes, flipped T. the bird and said "I'm going home, let me know if anyone comes by that wants to buy ****" as she shuffled off.

"Hey, M., I'm only going to be here for another hour..." He called after her, but she was already spiraling into a depressive func.

Back upstairs M. took stock of what **** she still had. like 5 grams of coke, and she still owned $3k grand on that Kilo. Not even close. 3 grams of fetty for cutting the coke, but she was doing too much of the coke still, and people weren't buying her shit because they knew she cut it with fetty. Which at this point was just out of laziness of incompetence because she didn't want to look up where to buy the right powdered Vitamin E she was supposed to use. In that moment it made sense, she decided she wouldn't do anymore of the coke, and just do fetty, then she could deal stretch that out to make $1k, and might have to suck just a couple dicks.

Might as well get ahead of that, and maybe get more fetty. She called up X. This is how it always happened, she was a couple grand short, she'd call up X. and cry, and he'd come over and feed her **** and they'd have sex and drink and not eat for a week and then he'd give her another Kilo.

The next three hours was a daze, music, fucking, X. won't give her another Kilo, fighting, screaming, crying, alright X can get her a lb of fetty, and it should be fire. So much drinking, it was really the drinking that was her problem, if she could keep that under control the fetty and coke wasn't even that bad. That was the last thought M. had as she rolled up a dollar bill and snorted a gram of fetty that was actually "fire" as advertised.