It was a bright and beautiful morning.
The young man groggily opened his eyes, the light from the windows of his RV hitting his face.
He winced and slowly got out of bed, preparing himself for the new day ahead.
After freshening up, Bruce Oliver looked at himself in the mirror and closely inspected himself.
He had short mullet hair with bangs and sharp green eyes from his mother's genes, but he always assumed they changed because of his diet.
His skin was smooth and fair, while his lower lip was red from excessive smoking and dry lip picking.
Once he was certain that he was clean enough, he grabbed his weed trimmers and walked to the LED-lit pot plants beside his sink.
He crouched and began trimming down the fruits of his labour, years of practice and knowledge flowing effortlessly.
He then watered the second plant and made his way to the packaging station, where he carefully placed a single piece of kush into a baggy, sealing it tightly.
"10 kush should get me at least 4 deals," his smoky voice rang out as he walked out of his RV.
The scorching morning heat of the town never changed for as long as Bruce could remember.
The grainy smell of sand and the coarse dirt road had a calming effect on him, always putting his mind at ease.
He glanced at the old man sitting in a wheelchair outside the humble cottage and smiled at him.
"Morning, Uncle Nelson," Bruce greeted him as he towered above the poor old man.
Nelson, with a smile on his face and grey hair on his head, responded with a bright smile.
"Mornin' bud! Off to make some deals?"
"Yup."
"You're free to take the truck. Also, would you mind grabbing a package for me from those fellas down by the motel? You can also grab some seeds. Tell them to put it on my tab."
"You've got it. I'll see you later," Bruce then began walking away.
"Hey! Don't smoke the product, kid!" Nelson warned.
Bruce chuckled and jogged towards the humble red truck, starting it before driving off into town.
The town was quiet and uneventful, filled with the standard post office, Sheriff's station, and local convenience store.
The dirt roads turned into tar the longer he travelled, Bruce's phone buzzing with requests from his customers.
One, two, three deals later, a customer suggested he sell one of his goods to a friend of his.
After Bruce did as he was suggested, she enjoyed the high and added him to her list of contacts.
"Guess it's time to get unc's package."
Bruce drove to a double-story house and pulled up to the driveway. The music playing outside was so terrible, Bruce cringed even before stepping out of the car.
Cautious eyes looked at him as he approached the man in the front.
He had an orange hat, a blue shirt and casual pants. Plus, the wrinkle between his torso and waist meant he was concealing a firearm.
Bruce casually placed his hands in his pockets and met the man before him with calm intentions.
"Oliver," the man said, his eyebrows furrowing as he did.
"I'm here for the package."
The man chuckled, prompting his associates to do the same.
One laughed so hard he threw his empty can of Cuke at Bruce, who grabbed it and tossed it right back, hitting him square in the face.
"Your uncle ain't got no package here," the leader retorted. "His tab's been getting fuller by the night. We ain't gon tolerate any more delays, Oliver."
"That's none of my business, Frank. I'm just here to grab my shit and leave."
Bruce and Frank glared at each other, neither one deciding to back down.
Eventually, Frank groaned and snapped his fingers. A minute later, one of his men handed him a sealed box.
"Also, I need seeds."
Frank smirked. "Slowly but surely, y'all are gon fall."
He searched his pockets and tossed Bruce a single tube with one seed. Bruce then placed the box on the back of his truck and drove to the gas station.
Once he left, Frank pulled out his phone and spoke ominously, smiling maniacally as he did.
Immediately after parking the truck for some gas, a bald police officer with shades approached him.
"Don't move!"
'Shit,' Bruce's eyebrows rose as he remembered that he kept one piece of kush he was going to smoke himself.
Luckily, Bruce was an expert at this sort of thing.
The officer approached him and ran through his pockets, searching him thoroughly and even causing him to rock every so often.
The officer even patted down his shoulders and wrists, hoping to hear a crumple. But his face contorted while his bald head sparkled, almost blinding Bruce.
He grunted. "You got lucky this time around. I know you and your uncle are up to no good up in that ranch. Don't think you can keep getting away with your bullshit. This town ain't gon tolerate scum like you forever."
Just as quickly as he got there, he left, his feet practically burning footprints onto the tar road from his seething rage.
Bruce chuckled and flipped him off while his back was turned.
Then, he filled up the gas and drove home, smoking the last piece of concealed kush—thanks to a technique his old friend taught him.
The sun had already begun to set, and Bruce finally made it home, where he handed Nelson his package.
"Ah, thank you kindly, buddy," Nelson looked up at Bruce and smiled.
"Y'know, you still remind me of her."
Bruce's smile became sombre. "Of mom?"
"You have the same nonchalant expression and those darn green eyes..."
Bruce nodded and crossed his arms. "You think she'd be proud?"
Nelson chuckled. "Don't be stupid. Your mother took you away from the country because of my business.
"They took my legs and her life. So, if she saw you doing the same thing I did years ago, she'd curse me to hell."
"But, I'm happy."
Nelson looked up at Bruce with wide eyes. He had never expected his nephew to admit that he was okay with the life he was living.
Nelson had taken in Bruce when he was 13, right after he was crippled by his rival mafia group and right after his little sister–Bruce's mother–was shot by the same people.
After Bruce graduated from high school, he sold weed full-time with his uncle, making enough dough to keep living and even bought himself his RV.
So, maybe Bruce really was happy.
"Wait, you're only saying that because of the kush!"
Bruce cackled. "The Kush is only a bonus! Honestly, I'm glad you took me in."
Nelson grunted. "Well, guess I'll take your word for it."
Bruce waved his uncle goodbye and returned to his RV, where he ripped open a bag of soil, watered it and planted his one OG kush seed.
Then, he had dinner and fell asleep, waiting for the time to pass.
Right in the middle of the night, police sirens and distant blue-red lights jolted Bruce awake.
He looked out his window and saw a cop car parked right outside Nelson's cottage. Another was approaching his RV.
"Fucking hell!"
Bruce grabbed his car keys and drove off, his RV making a quick escape before the second cop car could tail him.
As he drove away, he wondered why the feds had shown up at their home.
'I was very careful. Unless...'
"Slowly but surely, y'all are gon fall."
Frank's words rang in his ears. 'Hope you're okay, Uncle Nelson.'
Bruce drove for most of the night, entering a town and parking his RV in the forest.
He decided to use the last few hours of the night left to get some sleep, praying that his uncle was okay.