Abraham Harriston

I honestly don’t understand why everyone gives such a darn. It was just another day that happened to contain some bloodshed. That morning I got up in my apartment, as usual. God, was that a crap hole. It smelled like vomit and drugs, all day, every day. I’m pretty sure that all the people there had been in jail at some time, but who am I to talk? I’m a gosh darn drug dealer. It’s funny. As we grow up the adults always say drugs will kill you and other bullcrap, but drugs are the only reason I’m still living.

You see, it’s a cycle. I get drugs and sell them and get money. With that money I get more drugs and sell those. Drugs are a lifestyle. I probably could do a little more with the money I get but I don’t see the point. My parents both left me ‘cause I was an annoying child, so I learned how to live with bare minimum. When you’re living on that little, life blows. The drugs were just the light at the end of the tunnel, that’s it.

I feel like I’m getting away from the point though. Anyways, I got an order from this guy, Miles. He was a usual customer, just another bum polluting the streets. He said that he was sick, but that guy was always sick. Apparently, he was too sick to get his ass off the couch and get the drugs but he said that he was going to send his roommate, Easton or some stupid name like that. He warned me that this kid was a parent’s wet dream and that he probably would be scared crapless, ‘cause hell, he ain’t broke the law before. I always hate these softies. They make the job tough, mostly ‘cause the “men in blue” can see the urine trail they left. So, I told Miles that I’ll deal with him and that I’d meet him at Roosevelt Prep. I filled him in on some details then hung up the phone.

I lit up a cigarette and then changed out of my wifebeater and boxers and put on my “dealer” clothes. Darn I love those clothes. The black trench coat makes me feel like Sherlock Holmes or some guy like that. The black hat just finishes it off. It makes me look like of Satan’s disciples and crap, and darn do I look good. Lastly, I wear black gloves, just to be safe. You never know what crap will happen.

As I left, I look around my room and gave it the good ole’ bird. I walked down the hallway tip-toeing around the mounds of vomit and finally made it to the parking lot. The parking lot is a lot like a used toilet. For some cars, it looked as if there was metal to mend the tape. My car is at the end of the second row of the parking lot. I personally believe that my car is a beauty. It’s a black van, most commonly referred to as a creeper van, and polished to perfection. It was the only car there that didn’t look like it had been to Hell and back. The inside smelled like drugs and the ceiling was yellow from smoke, but, heck ,that kind of felt like home for me.

I got in the van and started driving. I’d been to Roosevelt Prep many times. Darn those kids like their drugs. I guess that’s the effect of high-end bullcrap schooling. At least once a week I make a trip over there and those kids are salivating over my product. The thing about it though is how gosh darn nosy everyone is. It seems no matter what you do there, there is always some shoving their gosh darn face in someone else’s business and that’s when crap goes down.

My name is Abraham Harriston, by the way. I agree, a pretty stupid name. I ran away from formality, but that gosh darn name sticks with me. I swear, once I turn 18 I’m changing my name. That’s gonna be my gift to myself. It’s gonna be something like Anthony Edgerson, or some crap like that, something cooler, I guess.

After a couple of minutes, I finally made it to the school. I set up camp in the dark corner of the back parking lot of Roosevelt Prep. I got out, opened up the back and made sure everything was all set. Knowing that this guy would probably take a while I lit up some of this new crap a guy gave me. After five long minutes, the guy finally started to come here.

“Are you going to hurry your ass up or what?” I yelled.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He shuffled slowly along the pavement. His face made him look as if he was constipated. It was some funny stuff.

“You got the money?”

“Yeah, yeah. How much?”

“$50.”

“$50?”

“Yeah, you better have it or else…”

“Ok, ok, I got it. Just think that’s a bit too much gosh darn money.”

“Did I ask for your opinion, craphead?”

“Sorry,” God, was this kid a softie. I thought crap was rolling down his leg right now, “So, can I have the stuff?”

“Yeah. Here ya go.” As he took the drugs he must of saw a guy in the parking lot staring at us.

“Darnit!” He yelled. He chased after him and I followed behind him. This kid was legit going ape on this guy. I sure as hell didn’t want to get caught by the police or anything so I started pounding on him too. His face slowly swelled up and when I thought he was good, the gosh darn idiot pulled out a knife and started slitting up his back.

At that point, I hauled ass outta there and drove home as fast as those tires could go.

That was some scarring crap. As I got back to my apartment I was shivering uncontrollably.

Hell, now that I’m telling you, this wasn’t just any day. Gosh darn it! What the heck am I doing with my life? Ever since I was a kid I’ve been messing up crap, and now I’m worthless piece of crap that no one gives a darn about. Holy crap, God help me. Regret is a hefty thing man and I don’t think I can live with this anymore.

Darnit, where is that rope?