nudging　aside　plastic　containers　filled　with　garlic　salt；　red　pepper　flakes；　and　oregano。　？Where？s

Mitchell？？

Mitchell？s　little　side　business　was　no　secret　in　the　pizza　parlor。　The　pizza　chef　raised　his　bushy

black　eyebrows。　His　name　might　actually　have　been　Ray；　but　even　after　years　of　buying　pizza　and

pot　there　Nate　still　wasn？t　sure。　？Mitchell？s　gone　already。　You　missed　him。？

Nate　patted　the　back　pocket　of　his　khakis；　where　he？d　shoved　his　bulging　Coach　wallet；　a　sour

lump　of　panic　rising　in　his　throat。　Of　course　he　wasn？taddicted　；　but　he　didn？t　like　being　stuck

without　any　weed　at　all　when　he？d　been　planning　to　roll　a　nice　big　fatty　to　while　away　the

afternoon。　And　tomorrow　afternoon；　and　the　day　after　that　。　。　。

？What？　You　mean　he　left　for　Amsterdam　already？？

Ray？or　maybe　it　was　Roy？pulled　open　the　shiny　chrome　door　of　the　pizza　oven　and　in　one　expert

motion　slipped　two　hot　slices　onto　a　double　layer　of　paper　plates　and　slid　them　across　the　counter

in　Nate？s　direction。　？Sorry；　buddy；？　he　said　only　half　sympathetically。　？But　from　now　on　we　sell

pizza　and　soda　andonly　pizza　and　soda。　Got　it？？

Nate　picked　up　the　plate　of　pizza　and　then　put　it　down　on　the　counter　again。　He　couldn？t　believe

his　bad　luck。　He　pulled　out　his　wallet　and　removed　a　ten…dollar　bill　from　the　fat　wad　inside。　？Keep

the　change；？　he　muttered；　dropping　the　bill　on　the　counter　before　leaving　with　his　pizza。

Out　on　the　street；　he　wandered　aimlessly　toward　the　park；　feeling　like　an　abandoned　dog。　He？d

been　buying　weed　from　Mitchell　ever　since　eighth　grade。　One　random　May　afternoon；　Nate　and

his　buddy　Jeremy　Scott　Tompkinson　had　gone　into　the　pizza　place　to　buy　a　slic