Drug dealer story

I'm up before sunrise. First to hit the block.
Today's a Saturday, and that means two things; Friday night adventures are coming to a close, and plans for Saturday night adventures have already started. People want the goods, the shit that'll keep their weekend ride going 'till the wheels fall off. For them, Saturday is all about getting high and living it up.
And for me, that means Saturday is all about getting paid and making a buck.
I'm one of the most connected weed dealers in this city. I don't deal trash. You come to me when you want that good quality, served-on-a-silver-platter shit. I got the best you'll ever need, and I'll bet every last bit of money I have on that.
I used to deal harder shit, but I stopped that a while back. You sell coke and meth long enough, you end up on some bad roads meeting worse people. After all I've seen and heard, I'm out of that shit for life. Weed is what's good, and so's the clientele. I never had no weedhead even think about pulling a gun on me, and I know damn well that it'll stay that way.
Not that I don't keep one of my own on me, but it makes me feel better knowing I'm less likely to have to use it. My money being long don't mean shit if I gotta worry about my lifespan being short.
I'm walking down Hillside St, coming up on 74th Ave. This part of the ghetto is my backyard away from my backyard. All these parked cars and low-rent homes are what's familiar to me. I know everything about this street and how it's laid out.
Details like that are important. If you -ever- plan on following in my footsteps, remember that.
I stop and put my ear out. I hear a car around the corner. I know it's not 5-0 because I can hear it playing the new 2Pac album. Cops wouldn't be caught dead listening to that motherfucker. I step back a little bit and lean on a nearby fence, just in time to see the car come around. It's a Mustang, and I can tell from how it's moving that the driver doesn't live around here. They want nothing to do with this neighborhood.
Oh well.
I go ahead and start walking again, keeping my eyes and ears out as I do. You never know when you'll run into a deal when you're on the street. Anyone you come across could be a transaction waiting to happen. You gotta be vigilant. Look for any man, woman or otherwise, and then look for any sign that they might be in a mood to buy.
Now, I shouldn't have to tell you who else to watch out for. But lucky for me, I got that covered. My homeboy is on the other end of the street with his eyes out too. My pager's on and ready in case he sees any of our good boys in blue coming up nearby. He's as reliable a man as I ever had. I can trust him to see anything I don't.
It's not long before I make it to the end of the street. I turn to my left to start walking along 74th, and then I stop when I see a face I recognize.
Lacey is a local punk chick. She says "alternative", but I call a spade a spade, and she looks punk to me; short purple hair, ripped-up black clothes, t-shirts for bands that get blasted by the media for being satanic or some shit, all that. Doesn't bother me, though. She might be one of the only white people I ever met who didn't look at me fucked up the first time she saw me, and when she found out I deal, her attitude towards me only got better. She could listen to music about terrorism for all I care. Lacey's good. Lacey's cool.
And right now, Lacey's money.
"Ayo, Lacey." I call out, walking towards him as I do. "What's good?"
She's already walking my way when she looks up and sees me, and as soon as she does, she cracks the widest smile I ever saw. My first transaction walks my way in leather boots and knee-hole jeans, with that small sway in her step that lets me know she's already loaded. Seeing her come up makes me wanna smile my damn self.
"What's up, Freddy?" she says. "You out selling already?"
"Damn right I'm selling already." I respond easily. "Got ends to meet. You know what it is. You trying to buy?"
"How much you got on you?"
"More than enough. Name an amount, I'll name a--"
Before I can finish, I feel my pager go off in my pocket.