Me n the Talc Guy

     So now I help the talc guy.  We cruise the parks and the
playgrounds and sell the talc to school kids, mostly.  It's a
little creepy but it pays.
     They usually say, "Talc?!  Who the FUCK wants TALC?!"
     "You'll like it.  Hardness, 1."
     "What scale?"
     Ooh, kid thinks he knows something.
     "Moh's.  You got a better one?"
     "Original or revised?"
     It was a trap and I knew it.
     "It's one, either way.  Now, how much do you want?"
     "How dense?"
     "How does 2.7 grab ya?"
     "How much?"
     "Buck a pound."
     "You're nuts.  I can get two-eight for half that up the
street."
     "All right.  I got some two-nine.  Choice.  You want it?"
     His eyes lit up.  "Can you get me a steatite?"
     "Where you gonna get twenty grand?"
     "I'm working on a radio.  I need two-nine.  A steatite."
     "Lemme talk to the man."
     We talked.  Kid *seemed* legit, but there was something funny
going on...
     "Just what *kind* of radio...?"
     "Um, crystal.  Big.  Amateur SETI."
     I looked at the man and he nodded.  Kid was a narc, and not
a very good one.
     "Sorry, Jump Street," I said to the kid.  "See ya."