He got back in the main room. Debra's t**s were half sticking out, she was sticking her face into the pillows, snoring. "Ugh, cover up, Debra," he said, and left the apartment.
He had product to sell, and he needed people to sell it to.
He went for his usual cup of frappe at the overnight shop round the corner. The girl there was familiar, tired, smiling up at him.
He got his usual cup of cold coffee full of sugar and milk, paid, and was about to turn around and leave, when she spoke again.
"Mr. Chip?"
"Yeah, love?"
"Got any, you know?"
It took him a second for the thought to register. He was used to buying in here, not selling. "Oh, sure."
He told her the street price, he wasn't gonna gouge a local kid, and she paid him with her paycard, palming the little bag. "Thanks," she said,
