Unaware that his brother and sister were heading toward the shop, Marijuana had Dave manning the counter and had sat himself down at the small desk in his living room. Accounting was a bitch, as was trying to launder hundreds of thousands of dollars through a head shop, but someone had to do it. The apartment around him was almost disgustingly clean, Marijuana having spent a few hours in the morning taking out bag after bag of trash and even getting rid of all the empties. He wanted the place to look good for the party.
They were only a block from his shop and Marijuana looked up from the column of numbers with a smile, leaning back in his chair to wait it out. Maybe one of them would do his accounting. It wasn't likely that he'd even ask, he thought to himself as he stood, going over to fridge to get a beer.
He heard the downstairs door open and went back to his desk mischievously, wanting to let them surprise him. The numbers swam before his eyes and he simply pushed the papers away, drinking half his beer in a number of deep gulps, trying to relax after a rather hectic day.