CHAPTER ONE (4)

Matt appeared from the marble flooring and gazed at the board, seeing right through Squirley.

                  “What up, Mitzi?” Ryan sometimes called Matt Mitzi. The Mexicans, one day, realizing that Matt’s name somehow sounded similar to Mitzi, a south Mexican born well-renown fashion designer who may or may not have been a cross-dresser, transsexual, or at least homosexual, decided that they would get a few cheap laughs for a couple weeks over the ordeal. Matt brushed it off, normally. He figured the Mexicans weren’t worth the trouble, and besides, he was a nice guy.

                  “Eh,” Matt shrugged and waited for Carlos to walk back into the office, “I’m actually too sick of this place to… shit, sautéed spinach again?”

                  “Yeah.”

                  Matt looked at the board with disdain. What was the point of having the same vegetable every day as “the vegetable of the day”? No rhyme, no reason. Matt kept cool. He was fuming inside, but he kept cool.

                  Ryan, on the other hand could care less. His concern was how he was to get some routing numbers that didn’t belong to him and still receive his bi-weekly paycheck.

                  I oughtta burn this hell-hole down.

                  Ryan let his eyes drift to Matt. Matt’s mouth was open. He may have been drooling. Matt was a little dumb, most of the time, but he was a damn good server. Matt once told him about Carlos’ addiction to cocain, and Ryan then became suspicious. Matt ignited some suspicious in Ryan, not just about Carlos, but about the whole goddamn institution. The whole web of addicted little fiends out to get the worker bees who really did the dirty wor-

                  “Hey Squirley. I got some news.” Ryan jerked his brain back into reality at Matt’s words.

                  “Is it Sparky?”

                  “Yeah, and me… Our first batch is ready.”

                  They both looked around for Carlos, but this was only instinct. Carlos wouldn’t of cared if he knew the context anyways; what his employees did outside of work was none of his business and he felt that this ideal should be reciprocated. Regardless, they walked to a more worthy place for secret words.

                  “Is it any good?” Squirley asked.

                  “Fuck yeah it’s good… Primo… pruprle haze-shit.” Mitze smiled showing his tiny teeth.

                  “Can I get in?”

                  “Depends. What’s your price?”

                  “I gotta try it first.”

                  “Deal.”

                  “But hey, don’t tell anyone its ready. I only got a couple pounds.”

                  Matt had now perfected the art of growing marijuana. It wasn’t easy, and there and been many failed attempts. But this batch was primo, and his life depended on it.