Glass (Crank 2)

that she has a box in her

bathroom. Couldn’t I have

asked instead of taking

off like a bandit in the night?

“Heh-heh, yeah, I suppose

I could have, huh? Sorry for

being so dense, Mom.” I hold

my breath and, lucky me,

she goes for it, hook, line, and

bobber. (I hate sinkers. My

bait always gets stuck in

the muck when I use them.)

Anyway, I shouldn’t waste

a lot of time doing blow

with Grade E. He’s parked

at the far end of the parking

lot. And guess what.

He’s not alone. From

a distance I can see

two guys, bobbing heads.

They’re doing toot, and it

looks to me like they’re

doing it the old-fashioned

way—with a straw and mirror.

Wonder whose crank

they’re snorting. Wonder

how short the ball will

be. [The two-hundred-dollar

price tag makes sense now.

We’re getting street crank,