I stand by the desolate train with the whore. Her face is graffitied with a bawdy arrangement of what she must consider make-up. It's homemade acid she holds firm in her eyes and I can't keep from staring. No, glaring is more accurate. My anger preceeds me. I could care less about my pudgy toes bleeding onto the rocks, I want my money. Her dirty t-shirt has a picture of a butterfly splayed across it. The wings spread wide to molest her sagging breasts. The prominent stretch marks scream out of the low cut shirt. I hate her. I hate the way she looks. I myself am not in the best shape, but I can look down my chest and still see my genitals. To me that's good enough. She stumbles a bit, unfazed, unfeeling. I gave her an injection of the numb kind. It was dark when she came into my catacomb, I was horny. I wanted **** and it didn't matter which one. I let my guard dog go early on account he had to take his kid to piano practice. I knew it was ****. I knew he'd be going to see his beloved Sonja. Hmph. That tramps been trying to get on his will and off him for months now. I know, she asked me to do the job for a cut. Why the stupid mug is so entranced I can't get it. Yeah, she's a classy broad but there are others who will spread their legs for less. Like the bitch in front of me. Twenty bucks, I was in. No dress code for this club. She asked for one hundred, I felt her **** then laughed. I was nice though I gave her a romp in my drug stash. She told me to cum inside her. She followed it up with a mumble of some self-deprecation I'm sure I would have agreed to. But I was already in. A foul smell filled the room nearly making me gag. Dirty old woman. I didn't care, I kept on trucking, figured I’d better get my twenty bucks worth. I finished then got up to clean off. I get her the bill then told her to **** off. She was nearly out the door as I made the biggest blunder of my life. I smacked on the light.

Our eyes met. It was like lightning had swallowed my cock only to burn its way up my spine. She froze, fear evident, smelling. Then the woman bolted out the door. ****. No **** way. Should've kept the lights off. Would have rather not known. Too late to find a weapon, I'll kill her with my bare hands. She didn't get far. She was on the side of the house edging towards the garage. The whore was pressed up against the wall scratching at it, trying to jump and climb. There was nowhere to climb to. I grabbed the bitch by the hair. Barefoot I walked her to the railroad behind my house. I built my mansion by the trains, yeah. Obvious, maybe a bit. However, I've never had anyone even chance robbing my house. Even the cops know better.

So I'm looking at her now. Her hair is white with a few inches of her dye induced red-headed youth still clinging to the ends. She looks miserable in my grip. She screams a loud 'Gack!' in my face then starts to laugh. The sound reminds me of the sound cousin Arnie made when he went in for 'reconstructive personality surgery' downstairs in my basement after failing to pay his dues.

I still can't believe I'm in front of this woman. It's time to end this. I see the twenty peaking out of her pocket. I mass up my fists. My first strike makes a hard crack against her nose, breaking her whimpering laughter. She's **** up on the **** hard. She looks at her blood but doesn't have a time to register what’s going on. My left comes in to accomplish what my right somehow couldn't. She's on the ground. She lands with a sweet rush of the gravel dancing underneath her. I love gravel. I love the way it sounds as you swish your feet through it. It sounds like the ocean. My rugged sadistic ocean, kissing blood from my naked feet,  bathing in the whores decline. Her face contorts into scared disorientation. It's pathetic. If I was into giving a ****, I would have felt for her. Really.