LITANY- chptr 2
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Barry’s such a stereotypical dope dealer. He lives in a ever so dingy apartment. The whole place is littered with oddities and strange collectibles that seem to be in some sort of organized disorder. His fridge is full of bordering on health nut foods and beverages mixed in with various different bottles of beer and the occasional can or two left by drop bys who don’t have enough money for dope but hope if they drop by with beer you’ll get them high. There’s some sort of chai latte soy beverage, a tiny jar of marmite (whatever that is), Tofurky lunch slices and a bottle of that uncomfortably thick field berry juice which, in fact, has been thickened by various root vegetables which is somehow good for you but really distasteful in a wheat grass kind of way.
For the most part he’s a laid back guy but every once in awhile (as with all dealers hence the use of the word stereotypical) he has this driving need to pitch a dealer diva fit. It always plays out the same way as well. You call to see about picking up and they sound irritated you called even though they need you to buy their product as much as any other vendor. You ask for a quarter and they hem and haw about how they might even have to dip into their personal to make this happen and how put out they’ll be if they run out of personal. Which, by the way, is the case for everyone and not just pot dealers.
Sometimes there’s a lecture involved about how “people ought to call ahead of times” and “do people just think he’s here, like whenever, Dude”. People do think Barry should just be there whenever and pot smoking should be more responsible for their own vice, no doubt about it. However, that’s a lot like saying kids should be more grateful for what their parents provide for the, which they should but haven’t been, in the entire parent/child relationship history of recorded time.
Sometimes their get all control freak about it and make you wait an hour or so just to make sure they don’t have to dip into their personal. Or you have to wait an hour or so before picking up because “somebody’s dropping by” and for whatever unknown reason the visit is all secretive like the Prime Minister’s kid was dropping by with security to pick up a bag. It’s always a delay that involves at least someone or something that is infinitely yet indefinably more important than you are. All of this staged for your benefit so you understand your place in the dealer diva’s pecking order.
This time there’s a standing order for a bottle of orange juice so his place in the order of the cosmos is not as gravely challenged as if there was a wait and a very private customer involved. If you’re really in shit there’s a temporary hike in the cost of a bag. Due to some grow op glitch or a shortage of B. C bud. Liam wasn’t about to forget the orange juice, in fact he was going to stop at the closet convenience store just to make sure.
Another thing that has forever secured Barry’s position as stereotypical dope dealer diva is Barry’s dreads. Of course he’s a porcelain a white boy with dreadlocks in his dirty blonde hair. It’s as if the dreads are like some dealer bad of honor in the same way clear heels are the bad girl badge of honor. If Barry feels generous enough to smoke with you from his personal stash there is the requisite history of the dread included all debunked and re-debunked myths about dreadlocks which, at this point, Liam pretty much had memorized.
Barry will go on at length about how religious dreads are not to be shown to the public so most people don’t actually have them for that reason. He’ll tell you that dreads are more like a lifestyle than a hairstyle and that you have to keep them clean and tidy in order for them to be good dreads. Dreads are not formed out of neglect and are in fact carefully backcombed and waxed to get that uniform smooth look. Barry will tell you that Mayonnaise, Honey, Toothpaste, Glue, Rubber Cement, Mud, Chewing Gum, Peanut Butter are not to be used in one’s locks and that only proper dread products will do the trick. In fact, the majority of shine waxes are made with petroleum as the primary ingredient and that petroleum is a lubricant and products that contain petroleum will feel greasy and cause your dreads to slip
Of course by this point you’re really weighing the pros and cons of a couple of free puffs from the dealer but you romanticize your relationship with your dealer by saying he’s not just your pot hook up but he’s also your friend so you nod inn a bemused fashion when he starts going on about how starting with clean, residue free hair makes the process go much faster. Any residue in the hair tends to help the hair slip out of knots as you backcomb. Also be sure that the hair is completely dry when you back comb it.
Liam knocked on the apartment door hoping to get in and out of there as fast as possible and with the least amount of words exchanged as possible. Barry opened the door looking more distracted than usual.
“Here’s your O.J., man. Hope it’s healthy enough for you.”
“Wow, thanks Dude, that’s totally radical. I need my C’s, ya know. C’mon in. Did you have to pass Copps? I hear the Kings of Leon are playing there tonight, inquired Barry as he was walking back into the living room with Liam dutifully following behind.
“I did pass Copps, Barry but the Kings of Leon show was two months ago. Tonight it’s the ever fabulous and well attended Radio City Christmas Spectacular Starring the World Famous Rockettes” said Liam.
“Fuck off, Dude. You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you? What the hell is that anyway? Isn’t Christmas like, 2 months away?” Barry said in a shocked and slightly horrified tone of voice.
As they rounded the corner into the living room there, by the window, perusing Barry’s C.D.’s was a female. Her silhouette was spectacular in a diaphanous skirt with an even more slightly gossamer, in a steam punk way, blouse with a layered kind of shrug going on. She is petite yet looks strong; almost sinewy. Her long sable, hair seem to trickle down her back. The strands of stratified waves seem to crest just above her tails bone in a reasonably enticing way. As she turned toward Barry and Liam he was faced with a square jaw and huge brown eyes with fluttering lashes.
“You know Barry, your musical taste is questionable. How is in possible that in between Public Enemy, Cyprus Hill and Bone Thugs-n-Harmony you’ve somehow managed to fit in the entire collection of recordings from Huey Lewis and the News? Oh, hi.” She said in a really fast kind of voice.
“Liam, this is Channing, Channing, Baby this is my good friend and musical guru Liam. There, I’ve done that introdution thing. Where are my scales?”
“Oh no, don’t blame me for your questionable taste, “ said Liam as he reached out his hand, took hers in his and shook it like he was in some boardroom and he was meeting his new boss for the first time. Not that Liam have ever worked in a boardroom but he had most certainly shaken the hands of others who do.
“Nice to meet you…. Liam,” she said with a delightfully curious look in her choclate brown eyes. “Seriously Barry, if this was a scene form “High Fidelity” I’d be Jack Black and I’d be chastising you right now.”
“I know, Channing Doll, you tell me very time, “ Barry said in a eerily apologetic tone. “you both want a quarter, right?”
“Yeah” they said at the same time and Channing kind of half giggled and went on.
“Barry, top five musical crimes perpetuated by Huey Lewis and The