Translucency

There was Charles’s roommate, weighing out a bag of drugs on a scale. What happened that afternoon to Charles’s roommate is a story that needs to be told. It perhaps best summarizes the preceding events with a clear emphasis on importunity.
He went out on the street with his messenger bag. You should know that Charles’s roommate’s name was Spencer. He had a few ounces of drugs weighed out on his bag, making his Saturday afternoon rounds, dropping off and picking up cash. He had made three deliveries when the thing happened.
He was walking down the street, he opened his messenger bag to take out his sunglasses case, and he knocked an ounce out of his bag and onto the sidewalk, right in front of a police car. There was no stakeout, there was no coup. There was no being caught red-handed, there was the matter of bulk possession. A policeman whom Spencer would later come to know as Officer Hardy was the eyewitness to the accident.
It had been a very nice day for Spencer until his slap on the wrist. The officer had seen the bag on the sidewalk, stepped out of his car, told Spencer to stand still, and he confiscated the evidence. Spencer was brought to the police station, and sat behind bars for three hours.
Here was desperation, here was somebody who had just made a big mistake. If you were to walk into that police station, and walk into Spencer’s impromptu jail cell, and you were to look into his eyes, you would see tears. Tears flowing. Everyone around him without a shred of sympathy. His parents would be the next to find out. His entire life was going to change because of this. So he cried. And he was not afraid of embarrassing himself either. He thought that if enough cops saw him cry, they’d start to feel bad for him, reduce whatever they were going to propose his sentence to be. Girls had told him crying worked during speeding tickets. Crying would show them that he was not dangerous, he was scared and alone, and he did not belong in prison. They couldn’t possibly do that to him could they?
After a few hours, Spencer’s one phone call was made to his own apartment, which yielded this message:
“Charles I am down at the police station. They arrested me for possession. I don’t want to call my parents about it, I know you have enough money for bail, I’ll get you right back I promise, just come over here and get me out and let’s get drunk or something because I really need to forget about this now.”
At 6:30 in the evening, Charles heard the message, walked to the police station, laid out a wad of cash, and left with his roommate. Spencer lit up a cigarette.
“It was the dumbest thing ever, but it happened, it’s over, and I have to deal with it.”
“You know it could be worse. Imagine if you hadn’t sold those three bags earlier. You could have had a lot more severe punishment.”
“All I know is, the justice system is crap. A little accident, I had. This asshole officer, he thinks he can power-trip his way to a promotion or something? I am harmless, I am nothing. I sell drugs to make doing drugs more economical. It’s a simple survival tactic. And he has to come in, stop me while I’m rapidly picking it back up, putting it back in my bag, and tell me that I’m going to be behind bars? Because my hand slipped? Because it was bright out today?”
“Because drugs are illegal.”
“Whatever, I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m just going to be as low-key as possible, be cooperative, be nice, do whatever I have to do, and get my life back on track once everything’s over with.”
“That’s a really positive attitude you have.”
“It’s not positive, it’s necessary. This is such a major fuck up. Everything’s ruined.”
“The world is ruined as it is. Your life being ruined is totally normal. Think about five billion years from now, when the lights of the Sun go out, and the world is gone. Now, getting arrested isn’t such a big deal is it? You need to take some Magic Pills tonight. Get out of your own skin for a little while.”