“OK. Get lost.”

Pretty sure I’m already there, but it’s a welcome cue to exit.

I seem to recall Jon Stewart referencing the Jeep Liberty as a laughable vehicle that twentysomething hipsters tool around in on the weekends.

Well, I can tell you it’s not so funny when four dudes roll up on you in one while you’re walking home.

Drunk as fuck.

All you wanted to do was listen to some half-decent music at an unreasonable volume.

Maybe meet someone interesting.

It’s not exactly what I had in mind, but the nexus of 107 and 109 didn’t let me down.

Ryan needs the time.

We talk about the issues of the day. He spots a silver Jeep. I don’t think anything of it.

Sorry, man. Coke’s not my thing, and I’m not buying weed in this condition and under these circumstances.

But yeah.

I’ve got an extensive plan, so I don’t see why you can’t use my phone.

Sure, I can delete that number out of my call history.

…

Two minutes later, I’m insisting I don’t know this guy.

And I don’t.

It’s clear to me that he used me as a pawn to scam these formidable businessmen out of forty bucks worth of dope.

Thankfully, they’re not inclined to make this my problem.

…

Two more minutes later, all that noise in the general direction of the Jeep is probably unrelated, right?

After all, it’s that kind of neighbourhood.

But my suspicions remain.

The one thing I am sure of? Ryan made some bad choices.