God damn Brandy was so hot.

I was just a 17 year old, she was 22, and I swear I thought
she was the finest thing in all of Southern Georgia. I didn’t know a thing about her, other
than that she had kissed me at that party last weekend, and now I would do absolutely
anything she asked of me. You could compare the situation to when guys think the stripper
is in love with them, somehow not realizing that she’s just in it for the money. I guess that’s
why it shocked me when Brandy left me for dead that night.
The homies and me had known of a reliable shroom hunting field for almost a year now.
The location was well off the beaten path, the farmer was an old man who was literally
deaf, the area had the perfect amount of sun, shade, drainage and cow shit, and we knew
the surrounding woods like the backs of our hands. Most importantly, the other local
goons who were interested in crushing our cornered shroom market had no clue how to
get to it. This field, called Indian Ford, had produced massive hauls for us over and over
again, and our sworn secrecy of its location had stayed watertight much longer than I’d
expected. Until it didnt. One rainy weekend Shayn was a little desperate for his next
payday, so he decided to take a solo trip out to Indian Ford to see if he could nab a few, just
to get him through the week. Now, it’s not that we didn’t trust our boy, it’s just that we had
strict, agreed-upon meet up dates and we did not deviate from them. They were Based on
a whole lot of super-scientific-conditional-shroom-things, but also, and most especially, the