Saturday has been Zeke's processing day since he first started cooking and selling scat. He spends a few hours in the boathouse, usually in the afternoon, emptying the end receptacle of his rig, grinding the contents to a fine powder, and then packaging it using the big boxes of cheap Bics he picks up at the Walmart on 8th Street. When that's done and he has his weekly inventory ready, he spends some time cleaning the rig piece by piece, unplugging or unscrewing each component and washing it with care. The whole thing has to be spotless for the next batch, because Zeke doesn't hold with impurities in his product. Sure, it's a shit excuse for a drug, but it's well-made shit, and that's what his customers expect. Not that they'd know the difference, but he has his pride.
He's gotten a late start today, though, and he's still finishing up lunch when the doorbell rings...
Chapter 37 of High Contrast.