Ollie opened his eyes from a more pleasant dream than he was used to these days. He forgot the details, but the warm feeling in his chest told him it was a good one. He followed his usual routine;
he poured some milk over a fresh bowl of corn flakes and ate them; He showered, taking his time the way he enjoyed it; and got dressed ready for the day ahead.
He was not working and had no other plans, he would need to make a few phone calls to a collection of unsavory characters, such was the drug addicts life, to purchase the goods he would not be writing on his shopping list.
He walked to the supermarket and picked up all the items he needed, recalling that only a few weeks ago he had met Kate right by that cash point. He payed for his products and took them home,
packing them away on the shelves and in the cupboards.
He then picked up his mobile and searched a single letter on his phonebook tool, and the name he was looking for popped up straight away. Dialing the number and waiting for the phone to ring out once. It did and he tried again, this was the Drug Dealer's way of avoiding confrontation. He picked up this time.
\"Ollie?\" Came the dopey think scottish accent from the other side of the receiver
\"Yeah, man, its me... Just wondering if-\" \"Oh yeah... Well... Might do,\" He replied,
\"I haven't asked you what I want yet MJ.\" Ollie said laughing a little.
\"Sorry... Man... Sorry... God, can't hear shit... What you lookin' for mate?\"
\"See what I can get man...\"
\"Well what can you get for sure? No mushies either, that last batch was crap\"
\"Yeah sorry... Well I got some weed, and more Acid than I can sell...\"
\"Right, say a Q and two, sheets of Acid?\" Ollie asked, preparing for MJ's weakness...
\"No man, no way... Three sheets of Acid, I'll throw in the third man...\"
Ollie knocked, three times, on the old green door. The paint was flaking off and the hinges were almost completely rusted off the grass on the front lawn was almost as high as the small, broke,
pink bicycle. Ollie was never sure who owned the bike, MJ had no children or any family as far as Ollie knew. He was one of those people, dedicated to drugs. Lost in the vortex Ollie hid in to
escape his problems, he always wondered what life in the vortex would be like... It stared him in the face when he opened the door.
MJ was a shaggy man, ginger beard reaching the middle of his chest \"Ollie man?\" he asked keeping the door ajar.
\"Yeah man it's me.\"
\"Prove it!\" the man snapped.
\"Your middle name is Ivan, after your uncle...\"
\"Christ is it?\"
\"No man, you told me that was the pass this week.\"
\"Sorry man, here come in... Were you followed?\" He opened the door and allowed Ollie to enter.
The interior of the house was a stark contrast to the outside, Dali and Piccaso hung from the walls one or two Monet's joined them. Lush wooden furniture and a plastic wrapped leather suite added to the effect of wealthy working class.
MJ pulled out the drugs and placed them on the table, \"Fifty Euros, man\" his face was serious. When he looked serious MJ's eyebrows stretched his forehead down, revealing a red scar. Ollie had
never asked how he had obtained it, he doubted he ever would.
Ollie payed up. MJ refused to have any dealings with the Royal Family, something about giving them free money, and apparently they had asked him to carry out the murder of a wealthy business man... Oh to live in his mind, this stretched as far as insisting on Euros, not Pounds.
Ollie didn't mind, his dealer seemed to forget about exchange rates, MJ was the cheapest Drug Dealer in miles.
He went home and smoked a joint, feeling the smoke around him like a kitten stroking his face with soft, toxic fur. His phone vibrated. He looked at the screen, Kate, he looked at the text, Inviting him out for coffee. He pulled on his converse and got the bus. He pulled up at St Andrew's square, walked to George Street, pushed open the door. He smiled at Kate, and to his right he heard, in a poisoned voice, laden with false sweetness he heard someone call his name.
\"Shit\" he said to himself.
© Copyright 2016 EwanMac. All rights reserved.