It was three in the morning, and she was pissed. They had been driving all night, headlights searching darkened suburban neighborhoods and back streets of nearby towns, seeking out a couple of guys with yellow bags under their eyes and pockets full of dirty cash. He bit his lip ring, turned up the stereo. It was obvious he didn't know where he was going , not even after four hours behind the wheel. She wanted to go home: she hadn't even wanted to get in the car in the first place. But he wanted a fix. And there was no arguing when he wanted his fix.
Rolling her window open, she took a couple of drags off her cigarette and reminded herself that he'd be much more tolerable once he was high. If they ever found the address.
"We close now?" she asked, soaking her words with sarcasm.
"Soon, baby," he cooed, straightening up in his seat and stroking her arm. A smile spread across his thin lips as they slowed in front of a condemned split-level.
The transaction was quick, as usual. While he was gone she sat in the little Geo, picking at her split ends in the dark while the light breeze rustled some papers from her backpack in the back seat. He was already gone when he got back. She smiled.
"Can we go home now, Dad? I have school tomorrow."
He looked through her. "Yeah."