Here in this Sorrow

Alex Brown

I can’t believe that Bill Johansen would buy drugs from Ben Tramer. Ben charges him double what I would charge, and for stuff that’s half as good as mine. One time, I bought some from Ben, just because Bill told me how good it was. It was half-oregano! The fucker wouldn’t even give me my money back. He’s lucky that I discovered it before I tried to sell it. He would have had a dozen niggaz working him over with baseball bats if I had!

I wander down to the computer room, where I’m working on a story that I’m going to try and sell to a science fiction magazine. It’s about a group of space explorers marooned on a planet soon to be obliterated by Earth forces. I’ve got a line on a couple magazines that might be interested. I have only a little more revision to do. My goal is to have it ready to send out by the time I graduate next month. I dig my walkman out of my magic bag. The thing is so beat up that I’m surprised it still works. I’ve had it since I got it for Christmas back in seventh grade. The front broke off a long time ago, and the rewind button hasn’t worked in about a year. I pop in this great Dead bootleg while I work at the computer until the bell rings. Then it’s off to my creative writing class.

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