PREFACE

Clément spent his youth hanging out in the streets of his city, skateboard on his feet, between joints and bad encounters, adrenaline and chases. His school career is a failure, his professional life no better. One fine morning, after dozing off all night watching YouTube videos, he makes a drastic decision

Here is his story...

 

CHAPTER 1 - LATE SLEEPERS

Beep, beep, beep, beep... I open a first eye with difficulty, the alarm clock indicates 4:20 am. I fell asleep about 30 min ago; the awakening is brutal. The smell of the cold ashtray makes me feel like drinking a coffee and lighting up a cigarette. I clear my throat, remove the few shits in the corner of my eye. This 25 sq. m studio is a real mess, the sink has been full for a week and reeks of mold and mildew, and the floor is so full of clothes that I can't even see it. I rinse my cup from the day before, turn on the coffee machine, took a couple puffs on a spliff butt. The coffee pours… I light up the cigarette. It’s still night outside, I can hear the garbage trucks in the distance and their characteristic beeping. A constant pinch in my heart is preventing me from sleeping and reminds me that this is going to be a long day. Today is a big day.

 

CHAPTER 2 - MONEY MAKERS

My host's physical condition, valiantly sharpened during ten years in prison, leaves no doubt about how he climbed the ladder to the top. My buddy Hassan hadn't lied to me: his cousin looks like a real weirdo on steroids, and the idea of leaving with two bags full of cash belonging to him seems more and more crazy to me. But it’s time for me to have some balls, once and for all. I have to take responsibility. And I might as well tell you that the cousin is not short of adjectives to detail what will happen to me if I don’t come back with the dope. In my life, I don't remember any discussion where the words "trust" and "death" came up so often. From the window, on the 34th floor of Tower B, the sun rises, it's beautiful. The speech is over, the action begins. I lift the bags and take off. All this fuss for twenty grand.

 

CHAPTER 3 - HAPPINESS MARKET

Saïd had told me about this old man as his spiritual father, the one who had taught him everything. The one who, according to legend, had welcomed the first hippies to Ketama, and who taught him in return the secret of making hashish as they did in Afghanistan. Since that blessed day, thousands of Moroccans lived from the culture of cannabis, sweating blood and water in the Riff mountains so that you can smoke you out while surfing on conspiracy sites. It was in a dark alley in Ketama that the 80-year-old man ran a real cannabis grocery store, a drug supermarket, a hashish museum. There was everything, especially the best. But then my dream turns into a nightmare when, after loading the Nissan pickup and hugging me for good luck, the old man has a heart attack and drops dead at my feet. Bad luck for the old man, but I have to think about myself: I end up with a corpse, 500kg of pollen in the trunk and two bags full of cash. I take the cash and the drugs and get the hell out of here.

 

CHAPTER 4 - FORBIDDEN ROMANCE

 

CHAPTER 5 - GIBRALTAR

I feel like Biggie Smalls in the Hypnotize music video, without overweight and Puff Daddy.  Hair in the wind, in the fury of the boosted engines from the speedboat, I cross the strait at full speed, loaded with hundreds of kilos of hash. Sarah is hanging onto me, her beautiful black eyes gazing at the horizon. I convinced her to follow me, to run away with me. Never before had I felt so free despite the risk involved. A risk that could deprive me of this freedom for many years to come. But it's worth the risk: a few years in prison for thousands of euros, the choice is quickly made. The impact of the waves crashing against the hull, and the infernal noise of the three 150hp Mercury engines screaming just behind my back, contrast with the the disconcerting beauty of this vanilla sky that rises on the Moroccan coasts. A few hours left and I’ll be landing in Spain.

CHAPTER 6 - ROYAL BACON

Sitting on the Nappa leather seat of this superb nardo gray RS6, I rush into the narrow aisle of the McDonald’s drive-through. I take the tight bend that separates the order terminal from the payment terminal, not without difficulty, the 4,50 meters long vehicle being more dedicated to German freeways than to fast food stops. I have just crossed Spain, I crossed the border without any problem, I peacefully enjoy my royal bacon burger. Normally, the rule is not to stop under any circumstances, but the beauty had to pee and… you know women. Anyway, the mission is almost done. Sarah comes back with a smile on her face, in her dress that doesn't hide much from her divine forms. She hasn't had time to change, and her outfit leaves no doubt about her professional activity. From the top of its transparent pink wedge pumps, she leans forward my door. With her cleavage under my nose, I feel my underpants shaking, when I hear a voice behind her: "So sweetie, you’re working the streets at McDonald's?". The doors slam, I see the “Police” print in the rear-view mirror. Taking this girl with me was a bad idea. I'm starting the car.