Meanwhile, back in the master suite of a semi-dilapidated mobile home.
Mary Jo (who was known down 19th street as hairy ho) grinned her meth induced, half-toothed smile and writhed on the bed, arching her back to match the contour of her third trimester stomach, making a noise somewhere between a panther caught in a live trap and a 1930s ooga horn. His thrust pattern seemed to imitate the slight drip coming from the broken faucet of a yellow shower in the adjacent room. Of course, Mary Jo was only faking this pleasure to ensure he would be back again next week with more dope money. After five kids and upwards of a thousand partners, she wouldn’t feel a baseball bat if he were swinging her on the end of it. “You ready for a baby shower” he groaned while thrusting. “Where do you want this baby gravy”
“Anywhere for an extra $10” she lackadaisically muttered
He let out a few lackluster squirts inside of her and then promptly put a twenty on the empty beer keg she used as a night stand. As he was simultaneously walking out and pulling up his pants, he stopped.