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Hope you guys like reading it!
We are the product, misinformation, a generation milked from a Columbian high
She adjusted her wig, glancing around the club anxiously. Tonight she was Lisa; pink hair and a smile that knocked most guys to their knees. It was all a façade to keep the security and cameras out of her hair. If she got caught not only did she go down, but her entire family did as well. Normally everything went smoothly, the trade happening swiftly. But tonight she could tell she was dealing with a rookie; the guy who thought he was tough and could handle the pressures of dealing so whoever was in charge gave him his chance.
She knew she found her guy when she saw him slowly make his way over to her, sweat beading on his brow. She smiled, partly amused at his nervousness and partly because she was preparing to make her move. They had a move for everything. If someone had to ask what a certain gesture meant, it was an instant clue that they weren’t in the inner circle. To keep the police off their trail they changed the signals every couple of weeks. It was sometimes tedious to learn the new gestures, but it kept them out of heat, and that was all that mattered.
Running a hand through her hair while taking a sip from the beverage in her hand, she saw him glance up at her and nod his head slowly three times. That was the signal she was waiting for, and she slid gracefully from her seat and walked her way over to him. It was a dance; a game and a thrill she loved. Any slip-up could ruin it all, and the adrenaline of sealing a deal coursed through her veins.
There was no need for words as the two danced together. To the people who may have looked their way it would appear that they were lost in each other, their bodies meshing. But they were actually trading. The agreed upon amount of money shoved in her slightly open purse as they danced; the small packages slipped in his pockets. Within minutes they were done, and she turned and left without a backwards glance. She didn’t bother counting the money, knowing that if the amount were wrong her father would take it up with whoever the trader was. And when her father took something up with another person they usually ended up in extreme pain or worse.
Walking out of the club, she took her wig off as soon as she thought it was safe. She shook her brown hair out of its tight bun and walked towards her car. It was a product of working for her father, one of the many bonuses she had to look forward to for doing his dirty work. For living the lies and helping spread the product he so carefully created. For being the daughter of a drug dealer.
