There was this one time when I was going into the basement to finish my laundry, when I saw Popcorn jump on the bed. Quick turned his back, and his friend the little weasel just sat there acting like he was watching TV. I asked what was going on and of course they said nothing, so I went outside only to learn that they were in the basement mixing up their drugs. They told me that Popcorn was paid to hold the stuff and if anyone came down stairs to get rid of it. Why would she do this here; why would Quick have it here at all? He could have rented an apartment and had his shop set up there, but instead he decided to do his business from the house we grew up in; the house the neighborhood grew up in, IN MY MOTHER'S HOUSE.