The honeymoon was over. The dynamite was gone. Brody told Tyrone he didnt know exactly what happen, but it probly got somethin to do with those dudes they foun in the garbage cans. You mean those dudes with their throats cut and the signs, Keep our city clean? Yeah, Brody was nodding his head and they both chuckled. Sheeit baby, if they fuck up that dynamite scag it aint nothin to laugh at. Brody continued to nod his head for a moment, Right on, brother, but the way I heard it they fuck with the wrong people. They ripped off a couple a keys from the Jefferson brothers and wanted to make it quick so they put out that dynamite. But the Jeffersons burned their asses? Brody chuckled, Who else do that? Aint nobody fuck with the Jefferson brothers baby… an git away with it. Tyrone rubbed his head, back and forth and around. How this stuff? Just like it used to be? You caint do no moe than cut it in haf if you wants to put anything in the bag. Tyrone just shrugged and took the stuff back to his old pad where Harry was waiting for him. Before they did anything else they dumped some in the cooker as usual, and got off. They looked at each other as they booted a few times, waiting for that flash. It never quite happened. There was a hint of a flash, but it didnt rush them like they were used to. Sheeit, that mutha fucka werent kiddin when he say this aint no dynamite. You aint kiddin man. We/d better cook up some more. That taste was a drag. They dumped more in the cooker and got off again and this time it was a little better, at least good enough for them to feel it in their gut and on their eyelids. They looked at each other and shrugged. Lookit all the money we save on milk sugar, Harry laughed and Tyrone giggled. We/s doin alright anyways. We still be makin some bucks.
By the time they used what they wanted there was a lot less left to be sold now, and they didnt make a hell of a lot more than expenses, but that was no big deal, they had some bread stashed and pretty soon they should be able to score for weight, and score some dynamite again, and soon theyd be able to get their shit together and get that pound of pure.
Sara got easily into the red dress now, but still she didnt know what show she would be on. She. called two times every week, but she always got the same answer, that they were processing her application and she would be notified. Now when she called and left a message the girl simply nodded her head at the phone while looking at the others around her and smiled. Its her again, eh? The girl nodded and had to make a strong effort not to laugh. Sara always stared at the phone for many minutes after she hung up, then went into the kitchen and made another pot of coffee. She was saving money on food, she was eating so little, but she was spending it on coffee. And the price of coffee today, ahhhh. She tried, from time to time, to go back to tea, but somehow it left her with a vague yearning in her stomach, a vague dissatisfaction, that only coffee satisfied. But the coffee no longer satisfied the real need the way it had, but it left less of a yearning than the tea. She felt constantly uneasy, which was bad enough, but what made it even worse was the fact that she didnt know why. Something was wrong but she didnt know what. All the time she felt like something terrible was about to happen. And sometimes she felt like crying. And not like before when she felt sad when she thought about Seymour or Harry, her boobala, and felt so lonely. Now she/d be sitting and watching the television and start to cry—LOOK OUT! — her heart rolled over and caught in her throat—and she didn’t know why. When she called about her show she almost wanted to cry. She wanted to tell the girl how important it was, but her head was all confused. If she could tell her already the names of the shows they got people for she could have something, but the girl told her that that was confidential information and held her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone as she giggled and winked at the girl at the next desk. Sara spun the dial on her TV set and tried to watch as much as possible of all the quiz shows, but somehow she couldnt sit still long enough to really watch them and find out what they were like and watch her image walk across the stage. A couple of times she managed to get herself started across the stage from the far corner, but it seemed like all her energy went into keeping the dress red and the shoes gold so that the entire image faded almost immediately and she ended up just sitting in her viewing chair looking at something but she wasnt there. She wasnt in the show. She tried to sit for a whole show, but couldnt. She got up and poured another cup of coffee, or stood over the stove while she made a fresh pot, vague thoughts going through her head that some more pills would make it better. She started taking the purple, red and orange pills all at once in the morning, and that made it better for a while and she got her house cleaned in no time at all and was ready to go out and get some sun, but by noon her body was crawling and knotting and—LOOK OUT! — and she kept waiting for a car to come up on the sidewalk, crashing through all the parked cars, and hit her; or maybe something is falling off the roof, or… She didnt know, she didnt know, but something bad. She couldnt sit. She got up and the ladies laughed and kidded her, Antsy pants Sara, and she walked around thinking thin and zophtic, and even when Ada touched up her hair every couple of weeks she could hardly sit still and kept bouncing up, not knowing ahead of time that she was going to, and Ada pushed her down, If you want red hair you got to sit still already. She was losing, she was losing. The dress fit nice. No stuffing. No huffing. She was losing. She should be happy. The red dress fits, her hair is like Rita Hayworth, her gold shoes sparkle and she was going to be on the television, a dream, a dream, and she should be happy, she should be happy!!!!