I work in a record store, here’s a story.
A skinny middle aged long hair came in with a small pile of records to sell. He’s a “you don’t remember me?” guy. He has a tenuous connection through my brother in-laws old band and I’ve never figured out what that connection is. He was bummed out that I didn’t remember him, I’ll call him Ben. He showed me the stack of records, “are you still buyin’ these?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and he has the frantic cadence of a tweaker. “Yeah, These ain’t mine, they’re a friends…bigfatguy, he’ll be here innaminit.” About a minute later his friend walks in; short, heavy, sweat shirt and pants, drenched in sweat. Ben did the introductions, “Foggy meetTim, Timmmeet Foggy”. Foggy had been standing there for a couple of minutes and he was still out of breath, when he spoke it sounded like a drunken Tom Carvel. “Yeah…huhuhhu…these records are…huh..uh real good,some…huh…huh..uh…of them are…sealed….Look a sealed Stevie…huh..uh Ray Vaughn. You…don’ see that…uhuh every day.” It was a small but pretty good collection, I offered him fifty dollars and told him that he could probably do better on E-Bay. “yeah…I don’ have …afuckin’ computer…uhuh…I don’ give a…shit…uhhuh..uh…I don’ wanna bring ‘em home…huh…jus give…uh..uh what they’re worth.” I told him they were still worth fifty dollars to me. “Ahh…gimme fiftyfive…huh..uh for all of ‘em…huh…I don’ wanna bring ‘em home.” O.K., deal, I pay him and Foggy and Ben start discussing their breakdown, “yeah..uh..fiftyfive…ten percent..uh..uh..is uh..fivefifty and uh..twenny percent..is uh…” Ben jumped in, “yeh twennypercent is eleven an you owe me twelve.” “yeah…uhuh..but you owe me… five bucks…uhuh so that’s uh..uh.” “sevenfuckin’bucks” “yeah…ok…uh..do you want the…cash…or I could…uhuh give it you…in pills.” “yeah gimme it in pills sevenbucks aintshit.”