This Aint News

Biking back from buying some beer from the local late night fried food joint.  Weed must be had because I travel tommorrow.  I stopped by a squat and stopped.  Crawled off my back of an old bike and grabbed my beers against the trust of flowing social elements.

Walked down the alley in darkness and rung the bell, in the shadows of this short alley - into several artist's home.  The door opened - a woman artist semi-corrupted by the culture of art - creeping and hard to see, hard to focus upon.  I am looking for M... - I say.
 
He is present before she can open her chapped mouth to call him.  He says my name and laughs.  I ask him for weed and to come in to get it.

He says I cannot come in he is busy but wait a moment, so I do.  When he is gone I take out 5 euros worth of metal from my wallet.

He comes back and hands me a small plastic bag stuffed with about 2 grams of weed.  I hand him the coin - he declines.

It is evil he says.  I am evil, I say, so the coin is balanced - take it.

He does.

I hug him and tell him I love him and bike on home with the clink of beers in my wicker basket hanging on the handle bars.