Somewhere in a dark corner of Los Angeles, at the lower end of society, there existed an older young man. His name was Smith. This young man had worked various jobs. Recently, he'd taken on a position as a drug dealer. The job was rather precarious, but well-paid. Dozens of unpaid loans, alimony payments, no electricity or satellite TV—that's his current situation, so a sudden influx of cash would do him better than many a professional prostitute.
Of course, you need a market. Where could you find customers, preferably wealthy ones, for such a demand?
Smith knew one place, but he didn't know how to get there. It was called New York. Wandering around the house in clouds of cigarette smoke, he turned everything upside down. He searched for a map. He found many interesting objects and letters. In fact, he found everything he'd ever looked for except a map. Finally, he came to his senses and looked in the refrigerator.
"Of course!" he tapped his forehead. "I hid it there last time during a wild party."
Smith struggled to remove the map with an ice pick. It took some time for the map to recover. He spread it out on the old, rotten desk he'd inherited from his son. The map showed what it had. He began to gently trace its brown and green specks with his fingertip. Occasionally, he moved along the road or the tracks. Of course, Smith knew he wouldn't find New York on maps, but at least he tried to determine where the city might be. However, he found nothing distinctive. No trace that would point to New York.
In this situation, he thought of his friend, Kathrina, who knew all sorts of things. He casually threw his coat over the bars and set out into the wide world across the street. It was night. The city's cool air stiffened the plastic, half-naked bodies of corner prostitutes. Every nook and cranny was infested with all sorts of suspicious-looking cats. There were still people milling about, but mostly the usual suspects. Smith descended the narrow stairs to the basement. The former bar had become Kathrina's haunt. He knocked three times sharply with the gilded knocker.
"Who's there?" a male voice said from behind the door.
"It's me, Smith. "
The door swung open. Kathrina, as usual, was unshaven, but he duly welcomed Smith with a drink. While tasting a few days' old beer, he asked,
"What brings you here at this late hour, Smith?"
"First of all," the young man replied, "I must admit, this is the best beer I've ever
tasted, and I've tried many. You see, Kathrina... I have a problem."
Kathrina turned to face Smith and looked at him with his penetrating gaze.
"I'm looking for New York.
" "Then you've come to the right place," Kathrina smiled. "I happen to have connections."
Smith's life-wracked, gloomy psyche felt the click of a smile running through it at that moment. Kathrina made the call. While talking, he scribbled something on a napkin. After hanging up, he handed the napkin to his friend.
"Here's a map," he announced. "You're entitled to three beers.
" "What?" Smith said, indignant. "But we're friends.
" "Oh, right. You're right. You're entitled to two beers.
" "Well, now I understand."
Smith reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two cans. The men shook hands.
And so the future dealer's plans came closer to fruition. He already had fresh, ready-made merchandise at home. He calculated the distance to New York. His old junk, which had once been a car, should be enough for at least half the journey. He packed several kilograms of white powder into the trunk and set off, hoping his business would succeed.
* * *
It was a long drive. Following the map Kathrina had drawn, he easily found himself drawn to unpleasant, self-perpetuating childhood memories of his pedophile grandmother drawing lewd pictures on napkins. Trying not to think about it, he closed his eyes tightly and drove across the country. He saw various things along the way. He also experienced numerous adventures. When his map showed he was close to his destination, he began to scan the horizon. He searched primarily for the Statue of Liberty, but all he saw were forests and forests. Large and small. Forests everywhere. He was lucky because a beggar happened to be walking along the road. He pulled up and cracked his window.
"Excuse me, where is New York?" he asked.
The beggar pointed to a hill.
"Beyond that hill," he replied.
"Thank you."
It seemed close, but that was just an appearance. In reality, the jalopy still had a good thirty miles to go. Smith whiled away the time listening to the radio. A woman's voice read the latest news roundup:
"Over ten thousand whales now live in New York. The
city's climate probably favors them, as their birth rate is so high. Sometimes the whales are a real nuisance, blocking traffic or buying clothes for themselves in supermarkets.
Smith likes to know what's going on in the world, especially in the cities he visits. If the people there live alongside the whales, they must be taking a lot of drugs." The hill finally revealed a city that doesn't appear on maps. From a distance, it looked like an ordinary, urbanized city. Glass skyscrapers rose from between lower concrete blocks. Everything was connected by a vast network of roads, streets, and highways swarming with cars. Smith drove along one of the highways downtown. He couldn't believe he was there. The vastness of New York overwhelmed him. He felt so small, yet at the same time, he felt it was a city of possibilities.
"Yes, I'll make a career as a dealer here," he rejoiced.
He drove around a bit, wanting to take a closer look. One fact surprised him. He didn't see a single whale strolling by.
"If a whale had been passing by, even if it had been wearing a Hawaiian shirt, I definitely would
have noticed it," he said to himself. "What are the chances that I haven't seen a single whale in New York in two hours?"
He decided to ask a passerby about whales. He stopped next to a young woman.
"Excuse me, where can I see whales?"
The woman made a strange face, as if talking to a madman.
"I don't know, at the zoo?"
"I mean the whales that live in the wild in New York," Smith said.
The woman tapped her forehead and walked away. Smith, however, didn't give up. He followed her, shouting,
"What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"
The woman, seeing his insistence, repeated Smith's question to the first passerby. The passerby burst out laughing like an epileptic seizure. Calming down a bit, he approached Smith's car.
"It's not true that whales live in New York.
" "No?" Smith said in surprise. "I don't believe it.
" "Have you ever seen a walking whale?
" "No, but I know they live here and they like amphetamines.
" "What did you say? Amphetamines? What brings you here anyway?
" "None of your business."
Then the passerby pulled out his badge.
"Okay. Get out of the car and open the trunk.
" "You have no right to search me!" Smith defended himself, even more surprised.
The policeman quickly approached the trunk and kicked him. The trunk fell off the car, spilling its contents onto the street.
"It's... powdered sugar. My grandmother likes it sweet," Smith announced.
The officer, however, wasn't so easily fooled. He leaned over the product and tasted a little. He detected the drug with his trusty police tongue.
"And then your wife will kiss you. So what now?
" "Now you go to jail, and I'll go get some doughnuts."
The officer pulled Smith out of the car and put bracelets on him. The report stated that Smith had attempted to sell seven dozen amphetamines to whales, which, he believed, were hanging around New York. Given that the overwhelming majority of people thought so, this was not considered a sign of insanity, so there were no mitigating factors. Thus, Smith's career as a drug dealer was interrupted for several years before it even got off the ground, but who knows? Perhaps this older young man will prove to be an exceptionally talented dealer in the future. For now, Smith will have time to reflect and possibly change careers.
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