A chance meeting outside the visitor’s locker room. Frankie was selling — pills, powders, whatever these degenerate ballplayers wanted. And Dock was buying. He needed motivation, especially after last night’s extracurriculars.
The exchange was quick. A ‘greenie’ for Dock, a five for Frankie. A fair trade for 1970. But Dock was already on the mound, kicking the rubber before Frankie realized the fuck up. All his pills were green and little. How was he supposed to know the difference?
An upside though. Frankie called his bookie. Everything on the Padres. No way someone could pitch tripping on acid. Right?
The Weekday One Hundred 