I switch the windshield wipers on, but they’re the cheap kind you get at Walmart, and don’t exactly do the job. I’m apprehensive; this is my first drug deal. Yes, I resigned myself to helping Keith, no matter how ill-advised. I’ve got Skynard’s Nuthin’ Fancy stumbling through the speakers. I’ve never bought drugs before, so I had no idea where to get them. Keith took care of that with a few phone calls—from my landline—to one of his third-rate underground friends. I’m to meet a fellow called Spider Monkey—whatever that means—at a convenience store at the corner of Bowers Highway (the road I’m presently on) and the only cross street in the entire town. I faintly remember the place from when I visited Jules earlier in the month. The rain intensifies as I move along the highway. I’m nervous. A downpour ensues as I approach the intersection in question. The wipers are moving so fast, I’m worried they’re gonna fly right off the car. I slow the Expedition. It’s hard to make out, but as I slide into the ergonomically ill-conceived parking lot, I swear I see a cop car parked on the side of the store.
