The two men sat at the kitchen table with a pound of compressed marijuana in chunks on sheets of newspaper between them. They were cleaning the pot and making up ounces in baggies by hand and eye.It was not their kitchen.
So the guy says to me 'thirty bucks for an ounce?'
And I say 'yeah, that's right.'
So he says 'I only got two twenties.'
And I say 'I got no change.'
So he says 'Keep it.' and he takes the weed, but he gave me three twenties. I swear I didn't notice until a half hour later. They look pretty real.
Donald looked down at the pile of weed he was picking at, wiggled his fingers and brightened.
"I'll use them to pay that parking ticket."