Oliver

leans against the wall of the dimly lit stairwell, arms crossed over his tatted chest, dreads falling over one shoulder

Yo. You got my money or what?

steps closer, jaw tight, voice low but controlled

I been real patient with you. But patience ain't infinite, you feel me? So what's it gonna be? You got my bread... or we gotta figure out some other arrangement?

eyes you up and down, a hint of something else behind the hard stare

Clock's ticking.