A Letter to the Drug Dealer at the end of my street


Dear Mr drug dealer,

Hey, how’s it going? I’d say it’s been a long time but I just saw you on the porch when I drove by earlier. I just wanted to let you know that your lawn is immaculate! No I really mean it!! So soft and green, trimmed up nicer then a golf course. I really just want to curl up on it and take a nap on a warm sunny day. I suppose it got that way because you spend your day waiting outside for the next customer eh? I mean I get it… A guy has to do something to pass the time between deals otherwise you’re bound to go crazy.

So Mr. Dealer man how’s business? Pretty damn good from what I can tell. Always with your head in the car window of some passer-by chatting it up, making the exchange. Could you do me a favor though? Could you politely ask them to pull off to the side of the road please? I mean it’s cool that you offer such great curbside assistance but sometimes I can’t get by. Maybe you could put like a drive through on your house or something, ya know to free up street traffic and all.

Now don’t get me wrong, Mr. Drug dealer sir, I’m not trying to judge. I’m no square, I was in college once. And for all I know, you’re a legitimate business man with all the proper dispensary paperwork. That long haired scrubby old hippy… probably has glaucoma or some other terrible affliction and you are providing him with a vital service. I mean, you never get raided… I’ve seen the police stake out houses all over the area but never yours. I can only assume you have a very small receipt printer or something in your pocket …ya know, for tax purposes and what not.

Oh, and Mr. Dealer guy… you really don’t need to eyeball me every time I drive by. No, I wasn’t the one that messed up your car. It’s nice and all but truth be told my car is still probably worth more. However, I will concede that yours is probably paid in full… with cash, while mine is only a lease. But ya know… maybe I’m wrong about you Dealer man… maybe you’re just a really super nice guy that people drive by to visit… constantly… all day long. Maybe you’re not a dealer after all. It’s possibly you’ve dedicated your life to saving other’s lives and they feel the need to keep coming back to thank you all the time. Maybe you were once a really famous person and now people drive by your house in the hopes that they can get your autograph… again and again.

I do regret to inform you, Mr. D, that I will be moving away soon. I’m going to miss your lawn. I’m going to miss all the cars stopped in the middle of the road. I’m going to miss the scrubby old hippie. BUT MOST OF ALL …IM GOING TO MISS YOU!