Street Pharm

by Allison van Diepen

you know what she wanted me to say? A dealer, stealer, free-wheeler, player, hater, a downright dog—that’s what my dad was. When I came home from school, Mom was on the couch watching Dr. Phil. As usual. “How was school, baby?”

she asked me. “Yeah.” I gave up my cheek for a kiss while guzzling o.j., and she threw on her coat and hurried out the door. Mom thought I worked at the Flatbush Sports Club on Atlantic Avenue. I ain’t worked there a day in my life—but the manager owed me. He was one of my customers. Time to get down

shit this side of Bogotá. He gonna drop five Gs!” “You ain’t kidding. How’d he find out about us?” “In the fucking yellow pages.” “Seriously, Sonny, who told him?” “Who? Shit, like he was gonna tell me! What, you think his friend wants a finder’s fee or something?” “Listen, if you so