"Baby...come home early today." My girlfriend said with a look of pity for me on the bed. He gets out of bed, takes his underwear and shirt that are scattered on the shelf, and puts them on. He then tucked several packages of cocaine and amphetamines from the trick shelf under the desk into Jeket's breast pocket. He walks toward the door and puts some wads of bills from the safe at his feet deep into the same breast pocket. She lags behind him, gets dressed, and lights a joint next to the bed, smoke filling the room. If he could, he would spend time with her for nothing, but he desperately needs money for provisions. Especially since he has just been forcibly evicted from his previous shred house because he could not pay the rent. He has never been comfortable with his position as a drug dealer, but he has no choice but to live his life that way. Driven by the frustration of living day to day, he opened the door to his house and headed out onto the street. Outside his apartment, a homeless man occupied the first entrance, wrapped in a tattered blanket, enduring the damp Vancouver cold. He glances indifferently sideways at them and walks past. He heads for the back alleys of Chinatown, his usual turf. On his way there, it begins to snow, and the temperature seems to have dropped dramatically. As he walks downtown, he thinks about his drug haul. He realizes that on cold days, homeless people sell uppers to keep from freezing to death, so he decides to ask his friend, a dealer, to share the surplus with him. He has heard a story in the past about one of his fellow dealers giving amphetamines to homeless clients in the middle of winter, and they got stuck in the middle of the night and froze to death. He jokingly told him the story of his client's death. Ruminating over his colleague's story, he walks to his dealer's apartment, leaving his footprints on the snow-covered sidewalk. After a while, he arrives just before downtown Chinatown, where a black double swing door stands out in the snowy landscape as if waiting for him. He opens the door and heads for a room in the basement of the apartment. Once inside the door, the interior is stained black, and in the back of the room sits the owner, Dave, a South American immigrant whose English is a little rusty, but who is no doubt more knowledgeable than anyone else in North America when it comes to drug routes. As soon as Dave sees him, he pulls out several small packages from the back of the store. As he gives him several bills, he leaves such a dim place. He notices that there are homeless people stranded on the street, begging for money. Since it is the beginning of the month, homeless people are flocking to the bank to withdraw their money. As soon as he sees them, he starts a business at his turf behind a bank Drugs are sold like hotcakes, and several wads of cash are formed in his hands. After a while, a black regular comes in with a $50 bill in his hand, wishing for amphetamines. He doesn't give the drug because of deadly cold weather, but he begs for the package, saying he is in chronic pain. And then, he ends up giving some of the packages for the black man with warnings. In less than an hour, he has sold all the drugs and has a wad of bills in his hand made up of twenty and fifty dollar bills. He folded the wad slowly, so as not to drop it, and tucked it into his breast pocket where the drugs are gone and empty.
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