“Damn it!” Cursed Brock. He was furious at the person over the telephone. “The bitch is late! I don’t care, the bitch is carrying over a grand worth of dope, and I don’t want no one messing with my dope! The bitch is hurting my business, yo!” Brock slams the phone down on the lacquered table, breaking the phone.
Brock runs the dope deals in the Center District, otherwise known as the Happy District, because of all the dope going around. Many clubs lined the street, and even more hookers stood on them. It was a Friday night, and crowds of people partied like there was no tomorrow. And for some of them, there was no tomorrow. Death surrounded the area, people either died from a drug overdose or they were taken to a back alley and shot because they couldn’t pay for the dope. Still, people came, wanting to experience the hottest place in town. And Brock owned it, at least most of it. There were other gangs competing for power and ownership of the district. To most people this place was the slums, but to others it was home. Even the police were afraid to patrol around here, or if they did, they were here for the action.
At the very moment Brock paced around his luxury hotel suite, waiting impatiently for his dope. The bitch he was referring to was Felecia, one of his many prostitutes he had working the streets. But she was special. She was young and tender, but willing to do anything. She had dark hair, long and silky. With high heels she stood at five-five, and only one hundred pounds. Despite her size, she had nice big tits and a round firm ass. Tonight she wore a black leather mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, and a see-through halter top. She stumbled in the front door, looking rather flushed.
“Where the fuck were you?”
“I was getting your dope.”
“No shit, bitch! I said where the fuck were you?”
“Your client, he wanted a blowjob. So that’s why I’m late.”
“Damn, you better had made it worth his time and my time.”
“I swallowed his cum, and he gave two hundred extra.”
“And the dope?”
“I have it right here.”