The sky opened up. It started to rain, raining buckets. I thought I would drown if I played my cards right. All I was playing was broken hearts. I looked for the connection. Even Mexican drug dealers have limitations. He wore a garbage bag poncho, unprepared for the Northern California weather."Uno", I told him. I really wanted two. I NEEDED two. One wasn't going to do shit.He looked around before he spit the dope into his hand. In his confusion, he gave me a half instead of a quarter. I wasn't going to complain. I've seen junkies try to get brownie points by mentioning errors in the transaction. Oh look- you gave me x.y,z. Fuck all that. It is me verses everyone.I look into his brown eyes. How old is he? Where did he come from. The last one told me he was 15, brought up her from Mexico specifically to sell dope with his cousin. The one before him was 14. They are all disposable- just like me. They grow fuzzy patches of facial hair to try to make themselves look older. When I was 14, I was still sleeping with a stuffed animal. I still would be if I wouldn't have lost my innocence somewhere on this street.I look for a corner dry enough to sustain my activities. I look for a vein strong enough to carry away my burdens. I was hoping the rain would drown me. I was hoping I would die but I woke up today. I know this hit won't kill me. Maybe, just maybe, it can make me feel again.