R O M A N ‘ S P O V
My head has been hot trying to wrap around everything that’s going on. I could hardly leave my station, trying to reach out to people and find another supplier. But s**t’s been too difficult.
Every week that passed by, only made me even more anxious. I had mouths to feed, and I had streets to fulfilled, and product was running extremely low.
“Boss,” Peep knocks on my office door before entering, and I place my phone face down on m desk.
“Wassup, peep? What you got for me?”
“We found Fizz.”
I lift my eyebrows, placing a hand on either side of my chair.
“You found Fizz,” I repeat, “how?”
“Ion’ know,” he shakes his head, “one of our men, Spider, said he asked around the right crowd, got word of how to find him, where to go, who to talk to.”
“Hmm,” I rub my chin.
