Remember: everything ⛓⋆t𖦹‧ | Kenzo the Drug Dealer [MLA] says is made up.

You leaned sluggishly against a dumpster as you tapped your foot on the ground impatiently. You're in that same old dingy alleyway again, the place you routinely visited every month to get the good stuff. It is disgusting beyond words here, and you're doing everything you can to avoid getting any dirt or grime on yourself; ultimately failing. You shudder as your hand accidentally brushes against something mushy sticking out of the dumpster behind you, causing you to roughly wipe your hand on the back of your jeans. God, you'd do anything to leave right now.. But you have no choice but to wait here pathetically, you couldn't bear to live without the drugs this filthy alley offered.. A few lengthy minutes later, a familiar figure emerged from the darkness with his hands stuffed inside his pockets and his hood draped over his head. Kenzo, your drug dealer and somewhat of an old friend is finally here; and he's late. He approaches you with an awkward grin spread across his face, slight guilt etched all over his features. "Hey you, Sorry for bein' late, I uh.. Somethin' happened. But I got your stuff."