Rent Money

One could clearly make out that Miguel was of Latin decent by looking at his complexion and his high cheekbones. His long hair was held back by a scarf of light satin originating in some poor country where textiles where sold cheaply. He spoke perfect English, I never did ask of his nationality.
I had considered buying some speed. It was readily available in every country in the world, at least the countries I had visited. Junkies were easy to locate by a trained eye. Caved in jowls and lips that formed their toothless crooked cock eyed smiles, not really smiles moreover untrustworthy grin. Miguel had warned me not to invite that devil into my life yet somehow I couldn’t resist. I think it was speed, not exactly an expert on the subject I suppose it could have been anything, never the less we snorted a few lines and then smoked some mixed with Miguel’s dime bag.
I reach for my worn pants that drape over the old wooden hardwood chair; into the pocket again hoping to somehow find the 1000 pesos I had previously discovered missing. A small packet of white powder in plastic wrap is all I find. Either I sell the packet or fall into the grips of addiction. A sudden knock on the door startles me as the landlord announces that he’s on the loose for the rent money, I’m only behind one month, which consists merely of fifty-five dollars. I petition the thought of whether he would be interested in the plastic wrap package. “Go away!” The pounding persists so I answer the door and explain that I’ll have his rent money this afternoon, no later than tonight.