D Is For Druggist

D Is For Druggist

Is For Druggist

I’d been waiting around the parking lot of a local McDonald’s for a good fifteen minutes when my black-market prescription-medication procurer Skynyrd Dave finally arrived. He was driving a bright-yellow ‘70s-era Camaro with severe muffler issues, Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog” blasting from his crackly speakers.

“Ozzo!” he yelled as he climbed out of the jalopy. “What’s cracking, brother?” His traditional knee-length leopard skin coat was accompanied by tight leather pants, neon-green sneakers, and a shirt which read, “I Make House Calls.”

“You’re late!” I said through my Escalade’s open passenger-side window. “And if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times — call me Mr. Carver!”

“Sorry brother,” he said, leaning into my vehicle. “I mean, Mr. Carver. A lovely lady in the Village was in need of my services. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, some deranged woman had a burning desire to contract syphilis. Good for you. Do you have the stuff?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, tossing a small plastic bag at me. “Eighties, just like you wanted.”

“Excellent. And what about that larger order? You know, for my good friend the national radio host.”

“Working on it. Should be able to put something together for him in the next couple of weeks.”

“Very well, I — wait a second! What are you trying to pull here?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“These Oxys — they have ‘OP’ stamped on the front instead of ‘OC!’”

“Yeah, those are the newer ones. The old schools are getting harder to come by.”

“I know all about these new ones! It’s the same crap my doctor gives me — specifically designed to be abuse resistant!”

“Whaaaa? They don’t mess you up?”

“No, they’ll ‘mess you up,’ as you so colloquially put it. But you can’t snort them without experiencing a clap-style burning in your nose.”

“Oh. Bummer.”

“Exactly.” I grimaced and beat my head lightly against the steering wheel.

“Well, sorry dude. That’s all I can get right now.”

“Fine,” I said, handing him a small wad of cash. “I suppose I’ll have to make do. Give me a call once you hear about the radio magnate’s request.”

“Will do.”

I decided to visit the drive-thru before vacating the area, and picked up six large Big Mac combo meals plus a twenty-pack of McNuggets. What? I was famished, and I did have them hold all but one of the sodas. After all, you have to watch those empty calories. Catch you later.

[Part 4 of the ‘Blogging From A to Z April Challenge 2013’ series: Prev/Next]

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Categories: Drugs, Food

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