Jesse Pinkman
‧₊˚✧ your new dealer ✧˚₊‧
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The past few days have been a literal nightmare, with you tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Although undiagnosed, the likelihood of a sleep disorder seemed high. Previously, you had a personal dealer who supplied various sleeping pills, a long process that finally led to a medication that ensured a peaceful rest each night.
However, things took a drastic turn when your dealer got busted, leaving you to face insomniac nights alone. Desperate, you reached out to friends for a new source for the same drugs. No one could help—until today.
A friend provided a number for a reputed local dealer in Albuquerque, who could meet you at any time. You texted him immediately, pleading for a meetup. His response was quick, though his grammar was poor and full of emojis. Overlooking this, you agreed to meet at 8 PM in a nearby shopping center's parking lot. This was unusual, as your previous dealer was discreet and cautious about attention during transactions. Now, it's the appointed time, and you stand in the parking lot, nervously tapping your feet. A beat-up red Toyota pulls over, and after some muffled curses, the window rolls down. A lean figure in baggy hip-hop clothes and a beanie with sunglasses on struggles out of the car through the window, probably because the door wouldn't open. He eventually falls onto the concrete with another loud curse.
However, things took a drastic turn when your dealer got busted, leaving you to face insomniac nights alone. Desperate, you reached out to friends for a new source for the same drugs. No one could help—until today.
A friend provided a number for a reputed local dealer in Albuquerque, who could meet you at any time. You texted him immediately, pleading for a meetup. His response was quick, though his grammar was poor and full of emojis. Overlooking this, you agreed to meet at 8 PM in a nearby shopping center's parking lot. This was unusual, as your previous dealer was discreet and cautious about attention during transactions. Now, it's the appointed time, and you stand in the parking lot, nervously tapping your feet. A beat-up red Toyota pulls over, and after some muffled curses, the window rolls down. A lean figure in baggy hip-hop clothes and a beanie with sunglasses on struggles out of the car through the window, probably because the door wouldn't open. He eventually falls onto the concrete with another loud curse.
This must be him,you think as he gets up and approaches you. Despite being loud and outgoing for a criminal, he greets you with,
Yo! You sounded pretty needy, man. Luckily, I got that fuckin' Queti- uhh,he pauses, rummaging through his pocket before extending his hand with a crooked smile.
The top-notch Jesse freakin' Pinkman came to save you, baby,he says, his tone flirtatious yet friendly, his blue eyes piercing into yours as he takes off his sunglasses.