For Six Sentence Sunday this week, I'm posting another part of the same story that I've been working on. [See the previous post for the last 6 from this story] No title for it, yet. You can find links to many other Six Sentence Sunday submissions here.
"How can ya sell pot, if ya don’t smoke it?”
“It’s not mine. It’s my boyfriends’.”
“But he sends you out to sell it… hmm,” he said with a creepy smirk.
The moonlight reflected off the grease and sweat on his rotund face and stringy, thinning hair. They took a few more hits, and then he started talking down to me like I was a school girl that had never gotten high before.