“If you could erase any incident from your memory, that you aren’t proud of particularly, what would that be?”
Malcolm was inside his peddler’s car, an inconspicuous black sedan, parked inside a gigantic parking lot. The man glared at him, his expression, a mix of hostility and wariness.
The man was a seasoned professional in his field, a consultant for a host of technology companies, and a part time peddler, growing marijuana in his basement. He was married with two kids, both studying abroad.
At this moment, they were both stoned.
“What’s your answer?” Malcolm prompted the man.
The man grinned suddenly.
“Cut the shit out, just pay me and fuck off. I gotta say you aren’t like the dorks I sell my stash to.”
Malcolm passed the last bit of the joint to the man. The man grinned again, gleefully accepting.
“Malcolm, my man! You’re a good kid”
Malcolm smiled sheepishly, glad to enter the man’s good books. He had met him through a mutual friend at a pub, and had gotten his number easily, since the man had been raving drunk.
“Here’s the deal kid, I gotta go to work now. You only call me between six and nine in the mornings, ok? Today’s an exception I’ve made for you.”
“I’m in. Thanks for this.” Malcolm beamed.
“Cool, get the fuck out.”