Claire hovered at the edge of the alley. Eventually, the dealer sidled up to her. He'd known she was there all along, but he liked to make them wait.
"You lookin' for a high, little girl?" He tugged his coat open and revealed the rows of sneakers and replacement laces lining the inside. "Shorts, socks, the works. Sweatbands, even."
"I've got all that," Claire said. "But it's just not enough anymore."
"Oh, an expert, huh? I got something real special for hardcore runners." He reached into a pocket and retrieved a slender silver music player. "You can go for hours."
Rich on Capitalism, Culture, and Language
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