“I started selling when I was seventeen. I didn’t even have to look for customers. A bunch of my friends were squatting in an empty building near my house. And they all smoked. Plus they had people coming over all the time. Everyone came to me. It was the first real money I ever had. I didn’t even know where to start spending. I could buy real things: game consoles, clothes, all the stuff I’d never had before. I got some $400 Jordan 9’s and only wore them twice. The police don’t even care about it anymore. An unmarked car stopped me while I was skating home last night. They were searching for somebody who got in a fight. When the detectives asked if I had weed on me, I told them ‘yes.’ And they weren’t even worried about it. They let me go. But I want to stop dealing soon. I’m almost twenty-five. I’ve got ten grand hidden under my bed. But that doesn’t even seem like much money to me anymore. I could make more, but I don’t want to start growing it. I don’t want weight in my house. And I don’t want to sell to people that aren’t my friends. So there’s nowhere to go. And I’ve wasted a lot of time. The money made me complacent. I’ve been dealing for six years, and I’ve got nothing on my resume. All I did was work at Macy’s for two months during the holiday season.“
