"You're sure he's here, and he has what you're looking for?" Teodoro asks in a hushed whisper into the receiver of his phone, jamming one finger into the ear that the phone is pressed against to block out the relentless background noise of the bar. Stopping dead center, in the middle of the room, he waits for the man on the other end of the line to give his answer before proceeding any further. Looking up from his feet, his eyes meet with the bartender, who's currently too busy pouring a clear liquid from a silver container into a spotted Martini glass to really pay attention to the strange new guest.

"Yes, I'm sure! What kind of idiot do you take me for?" Alyse's voice chimed through the phone's speaker, blasting into Teodoro's ear. He cringes momentarily, before regaining his composure and looking around the room, checking if anyone noticed the nutcase in the middle of the room doing some kind of odd interpretive dance or however else that simple action be interpreted.

"An idiot. 'Really wanna know which type?"

"Fuck you."

"Aw, you're so sweet!"

"No, really. Fuck you. You see him?"

"No, I can't see him," he says while scanning the room, meeting the backs of the oblivious patrons' heads. "Maybe, it's because you never told me what the fuck he looks like!" It's at this point, with the assistance of two of the previously faceless patrons turning around in their wooden, backless bar stools, that he realizes that he may have said that a little louder than he should have. After a few seconds of awkward silence and prolonged eye contact, the two men turn back to the bar, shaking their heads disapprovingly.

"Wow. I didn't think I would have to spell it out for you!"

"You haven't even told me what it is you're looking for, how I would know the kind of guy who would have it?"

"Sometimes, I put way too much faith in you; okay, fine. He's a real wiry motherfucker, jumpy as fuck. You aren't gonna find him in the middle of anything, he'll be off to the side." While she was describing the man, Teodoro scanned the room, looking for anyone who fit the bill. No one jumped out to him as this elusive, mystery man who sounded more and more like a lifelong tweaker the more in depth she got with the description. "Now, when you find him, walk up real slow, and whisper 'Hey baby, bumblefaggot' in his ear. That's how he'll know you're with me."

"Okay, makes sense," he responds, still looking for the man. "Wait, what?"

Click.

"Fucking Christ," he mutters under his breath. Looking to the left of where he stood, he sees that at the far end of the bar, five seats removed from the customer nearest him, was a scrawny man with greasy, jet black hair. A large hole existed on his shirt, exposing a patch of hairy back skin. With a sigh, Teodoro approaches the man.

"Hey baby, bumblefaggot," he whispers in the man's ear. Without the slightest hint of hesitance, the man hops off his stool and spins around to greet the stranger who sneaked up on him, pulling a switchblade from his back pocket and exposing the blade, which he places against Teodoro's throat. In short, choppy breaths, the man's putrid breath wafts across the minuscule amount of distance that separated them. Teodoro suppresses a gag, and the man snarls out in a harsh whisper:

"Who the fuck are you?" Through the aggression and growling delivery, Teodoro couldn't help but pick up on what appeared to him at least as a severe lack of interest in the man's tone. It seemed as if he was merely asking the question to be asking it, and cared little about the answer.

...

"Teodoro," he uttered after a long silence. "Teodoro Stephenson. Alyse told me about you..."

"Oh, did she now?" the man asked with a sigh of relief, letting more of his halitosis permeate Teodoro's nostrils. Slowly, he lowered the blade back down to his pocket, loosening the grip he kept on the sleeve of the young man's shirt. While he did this, Teodoro kept his eyes transfixed on his face. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar...

"Lighten up, kid!" The man says, slapping Teodoro on the shoulder, effectively awakening him from the awkward hypnosis he found himself under. Shaking his head, Teodoro returns his eyes to the ground before the man tugs at his sleeve. "Come on man, we gotta get outta here if we're going to do this!" With that, and a nod over to the bartender, the two men skedaddle (yes, skedaddle) from the bar, retreating to the alley adjacent upon exiting.

"So, Alyse is back in the game, huh?" the man asked as they made their way down the straight, narrow crevice, hidden between the mass and flashy decor of the buildings that made up its walls. Teodoro's eyes widen in confusion, before he looks up at the man and asks in a hushed whisper:

"What? What game?" To which, the man chuckles before dropping his grin to a frown upon the realization that contrary to his own belief: Teodoro wasn't joking. For a few seconds, and awkward silence blanketed the still walking duo, as the man stared down his younger, fresh faced companion. "She didn't tell me what was going on! All she said was you would have a way to make money!"

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me..." the man mutters under his breath while reaching into one of the pockets of his tattered, faded blue jeans. After a few seconds of digging, he pulls out a small baggie filled halfway to the zipper with a white powder.

"No, you gotta be fucking kidding me!"

"What?"

"That isn't what I think it is, is it?"

"Yeah, is it?" A new voice called out from the entrance to the alleyway, the figure it belonged to slowly making its way into the narrow abyss. As the figure draws nearer, the sound of canvas shoe soles scraping against the dirty concrete ground is heard more and more clearly. Finally, the source of the sound steps out from behind the shadows, into the protective glow of both men's collective fields of vision.

The Bartender.

"Uh, that kinda depends on what he thinks it is..." the man says, fumbling around with the baggie, awkwardly holding it up in the air for the newly arrived guest to see.

"You two know damn well what I think it is." Folding his arms, Teodoro leans against the wall of the bar, glaring at the two as the bartender inched ever closer to the man with the baggie in his hand.

"Whatever, are you in, or not?"

...

"Sure," Teodoro says weakly after a few seconds of silence.

"Perfect!" the bartender yelps. Hurriedly, she tugs on the man's arm, almost knocking the baggie from his hand while urging the pair to follow her out of the alley, which they do in fact do.

"Anyway," Teodoro begins as the three step out of the alley. "I don't think I caught either of your names."

"Essie Wells," the bartender says, spinning around to look Teodoro in the eye before spinning around once more to continue leading them away from the building. "Pleasure to meet you!"

"Yeah, I guess," he replies, turning to look at the man. "What about you?"

"Kurt. Kurt Cobain."

"Wait, what?"