"What do you need?"

I look around the worn trash filled room before making eye contact with the man I used to know so well. His once shining eyes and muscular build have vanished completely.

I watch with interest as his fingers continuously tap against his thigh. My eyes are lock onto his face. Sweat slowly rolls off of his cheek, slowly disappearing to undisclosed places. He refuses to make eye contact.

I take a step forward; he flinches and takes a quick step back.

Paranoia; one of the many effects of crack cocaine. Judging by the look of him, it’s been a while since his last fix.

I take this into consideration before I follow his lead and take a step back.

"An eight ball, a tainted eight ball."

He nods his head, steps out of the room, leaving me alone.

The small room is filthy, filled with trash, cloths, decaying food. Various glass pieces are spread throughout the room.

Seconds later he reappears, baggie in hand.

I pull out two bills out of my pocket, he grabs them excited.

Moments later he places the baggie in my hand I walk through the side door, out of the house, and into the cool LA air.

I’m half way to my car before I hear the door creak. Briefly I look over my shoulder not surprised by the image that meets my eyes.

The taller blonde haired boy makes his way in the opposite direction, money clasped tightly in hand.

I continue the walk to my car, before entering I watch his blonde locks disappear into an equally filthy house a few doors down.

My ass hits the plush seat; I pull the door shut and start the cars engine.