The kitchen counter is covered in green. Two pounds of neon-bright, high-grade reefer next to its equivalent in cash, stacks of twenties totaling $8000. But three young men and one young lady, all white-Hispanic college students, are growing a bit apprehensive. The bud counts twenty grams short. "Razzmatazz," the dealer, cocks a doubting sneer as he lets the buyer in the $80 Armani T-shirt know "when that was weighed out before you came, it was on point." But the Armani guy's electronic Tanita scale doesn't lie; the "judge" reads 276 grams, just a little off. Still, for this price, no one takes a slack bag. A tense discussion ensues about appropriate compensation. Fortunately the girl finds the derelict nugget on the floor before the boys get rowdy. It must have fallen ... "Sure," Razzmatazz quips. The deal is done, everyone's happy. Razz counts his money and instructs the buyers to be on their way: "Get the fuck out of my house," he snarls in jest, sort of. The bunch packs into a brand-new Ford Explorer parked outside the West Kendall home and speeds recklessly away, not giving the young kids playing on the quiet neighborhood street much time to... More >>>