Read Kobe for Free Online

life. Either buy them or get out."
                  "You can't talk to me like that, I'm the customer!" Skaggs pounds his hand on the counter.
                  "I've poured my heart and soul into this business to keep it running," Akmed says, "The day a doped up scab shuts me down, I'll pack my bags and move back to Africa." Akmed slides his hand underneath the counter.
                  "I'll buy them, ok?" Skaggs nervously throws a ten spot on the counter.
                  Akmed hands him the box of bath salts, smiling, "thank you for shopping at Manor Carryout, come again."
    * * * * *
                  Quinn's skinny legs slap overgrown weeds as he walks through the Bayside apartment complex, the morning dew sticks to his baggy jeans. A cell phone firmly presses against his ear. "Yeah Rob, I can give you an eighth for forty-five. I'm gonna finish my math homework and I'll swing by. Don't tell anyone else I'm dropping the price for you, it'll hurt business."
                  Quinn crosses into a mulched area around a hazardous playground. Beer and liquor bottles litter the area. Condoms are tossed haphazardly underneath a plastic slide with forgotten children floating around inside.
                  He walks by a group of gangsters passing around a blunt. They stare at him for a moment. He puts his head down and picks up the pace. Once in the clear, he continues his conversation.
                  "Naw I got it from Jaybird. I don't buy shit from Skaggs anymore he's been acting sketchy as fuck. Did you hear his theory on your dad killing Leroy?" Quinn crosses a parking lot. "Twisted, right? He's been doing all kinds of drugs lately. Like not weed and pills, but fucking heroin, meth. Shit like that."
                  Quinn strolls past an elderly couple and waves.
                  "My mom's gonna kick him out soon. I don't know if he's got anywhere to go, no one in the Bay wants to take care of him." Quinn climbs a set of stairs into building F. The smell of dollar store carpet cleaner fills the air.
                  "I don't even want to look at him, let alone have him sleep in my house. Did I tell you he stole half my script of Adderall? Fuckin' prick. Anyway, I'll call when I get done with my homework dude, see ya."
                  Quinn unlocks the door to see his mom still asleep on the couch with half a beer next to her. Sunday morning blues. He eases the door shut and sneaks down the hallway to his room.
                  The smell of weed permeates the air as Quinn pulls out a twenty-eight-gram treasure from his pocket. He puts it up to his nose and inhales the exotic aroma.
                  Quinn removes a digital scale from a cigar box and sits it on the dresser. He presses the power button and places a plastic cup on the scale. Quinn presses tare and the weight goes from fifteen grams to zero. Crystals fall like snow from the bright green nuggets when Quinn drops them into the cup.
                  Twenty-eight point six, a little over an ounce.
                  Smoking for free is the code of most pot dealers. The most important rule by far is don't carry a zip without a weapon. Bullets don't fly often, but those pistols in everyone's backpacks aren't for target practice. It's the Wild West in Bayside. 
                  Quinn carries a taser.
                  He used it once on the way home from school. A couple guys started pushing him. When one of the goons tried to take his book bag, Quinn hit him with some electroshock therapy. The electricity surged through the thug, and the asshole shit his pants. The other guy ran like a little bitch.
                  That's Bayside, the gated ghetto. Thugs lurk around the corners to harass helpless teenagers, scumbags, and addicts alike. A mom with two jobs generally