Albert stood outside his mother’s bedroom door. The sounds coming from behind the door made Albert’s skin feel numb all over. A fiery orange light shined at his feet from the two-inch space at the bottom of the bedroom door. The light seemed hideous as Albert stood there listening to the sounds of his mother’s cries and moans, mixed with the sound of the bed springs and the headboard hitting the wall. Albert heard the deep panting voice of a male, as his mother whined and cursed, “Shit!” Albert was hungry and there was no milk for cereal. He mostly ate cereal because his mother wouldn’t cook. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a bowl of some over sugared cereal, but now, with no milk how could he eat?

Albert was scared to knock on his mother’s bedroom door, and he dared not to open it. The last time he recklessly came running into her bedroom, she looked like she was trying to choke herself with one of his numerous uncles’ private parts. He remembered standing there dumbfounded as his mother pulled the large wee wee out of her mouth, her spit dripping over her hand as she held the wee wee. Albert remembered how his mother had gotten off her knees, walked to where he stood and slapped him with her spitty palm. “You lil’ muthafucker! Who you think you iz runnin’ up in here bustin’ open doors likes you pay rent!” His mother had beaten him senseless until his uncle had appeared in the doorway with his big wee wee standing out in front of him. He’d called Albert’s mother back into the bedroom. She had left Albert sprawled out on the floor bloody and in pain. And it wasn’t long after that that Albert was hearing the same sounds he was hearing now.

He hadn’t eaten all day and now it was nighttime. Albert heard the doorbell ring; he knew this was his only chance to get something to eat. “Ma, the door.”

The sounds continued behind the door, and his mother didn’t answer him. He listened and all he heard was the grunts and moans coming from behind the door. He spun off in the direction where the doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by loud pounding. He walked through the dimly lit apartment until he got to the living room. He heard voices on the other side of the door, then there was more loud pounding that startled him. It sounded like someone was trying to break the door down, he thought he better open it before someone broke the door down and he got beat for it. No matter what happened it always seemed to be his fault.

Albert began to unlock the door without asking who it was, as soon as he cracked the door it came in on him full force. Policemen rushed the apartment with shouts and guns. Not one of them bothered to help Albert as he lay on the floor barely conscious. The last thing Albert remembered before passing out, was his mother and his uncle Dave cuffed naked in the middle of the living room floor. The policemen were cheering and abusing his mother sexually. He passed out as one of the cops violated his mother with his nightstick. “So you like black cock, huhn…? Try this on for size.”

The room erupted in cheers and laughter.

THE INGREDIENTS

Albert rolled out of bed, reaching to the nightstand for his cigarettes. He lit one of the Newport’s, exhaled smoke, and looked over his shoulder at Monique. Monique was a twenty two year old hood rat; she had somehow managed to escape getting pregnant. She was known widely throughout the community as the neighborhood porn star. Albert loved having sex with her because he knew her satisfaction came in pleasing him. She did things to him that most men only see in flicks.

Mrs. Edna Albert’s grandmother didn’t mind that he had Monique come stay with him some nights. Mrs. Edna didn’t mind much he did. Albert had been sent to live with his grandmother after the police had raided he and his mother’s apartment. He hadn’t seen his mother in eight years. He looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. It showed 8:30. He had been eighteen four eight and a half hours. “Whut’s up Hardrock?” Monique said, playfully slapping Albert on the back. She called him Hardrock because she said he had the ability to be hard forever.

Albert turned to see Monique smiling with her eyes still closed. As he looked at her, he studied her closely. Monique wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty. Long jet black hair, roasted pecan complexion, wide bashful eyes, thick lips, and a small nose. Her nostrils looked to be flaring all the time. Her body was tight… men and women alike both lusted for her flesh, and she indulged both genders. She was a pimp’s breadwinner and a hustler’s trophy. This all until you spoke with her. Monique had no ambition for anything in life; she was satisfied with just the air she breathed.

Monique had once been first lady to one of the biggest drug dealers in he South Bronx. She left him for a would-be hustler that was pitching for the cat that had come to make her. She had lifted a kilo of cocaine from her boyfriend and gave it to her under cover lover to go out of town and flip. Ike, her boyfriend, suspected Monique and Johnny had something going on, and when the ‘caine came up missing along with Johnny, Ike knew she was playing him to the left. He couldn’t bring himself to cause harm to Monique for her larceny so he just cut her loose.

Johnny reappeared around the way three months later broke with nothing to show for his time away. Monique went right back to sexing him until Ike had him murdered. He couldn’t stand the public disregard for him. Had Johnny come back with something, at least on his feet Ike may have been able to look past it, but knowing Johnny was broke and screwing Monique every way he wanted to, he had to teach him a lesson. Murdering Johnny earned Ike the moniker “Heart Throb,” used only in his absence. Most of the hood felt if Ike was going to direct attention to the chalkboard as a reminder, then he should have killed Monique. Instead he cleansed her sins by shedding blood that had been tainted by the same blood he forgave.

“Whut up, Nique?” Albert asked coolly.

Monique opened her dreamy eyes and stretched. “Ummm,” she exhaled and smiled. “I think you grew a few inches for your burthday, my shit is throbbin,” Monique said, still smiling at Albert.

He smiled inwardly. He knew he was hung exceptionally well. All the girls told him so. He had given Monique a hell of a thrashing last night; his own inner thighs were sore from the effort he put forth. “You think I got porn star potential?” he asked jokingly.

“Fucks yeah,” Monique said, sincerely, as she rolled onto her back and stretched again. Albert studied her body. Her 32Ds were perfect, they didn’t even sag to the right or the left as she lay there on her back. He watched as she gently raked her fingernails through her pubic hair. “Well burthday boy, what you goin’ to do fa ya B-day?” she asked, continuing to play in her pubic hairs.

“I’m gonna’ hit Third Avenue, get the new J’s. Then I’ll probably go downtown to the Village or Delancy...try to find a hat to go with that,” he said, pointing to a sky blue leather jacket hanging on the back of his bedroom door.

Albert’s bedroom wasn’t that big, he just had a lot of things comfortably arranged in a small space. He had a 27’ T.V. that sat on a two and a half foot tall dresser, which had two drawers that were meant for clothing storage. Next to the dresser with the T.V. was a bookshelf that housed VCR tapes and DVD’s. Every wall in the room was filled with celebrity posters and photos, as well as personal photos of girls he knew and of him and his boys. The walls were so littered with photos the dull project paint was barely visible. His stereo system was hooked up to two 5ft. tall Peavey speakers, the kind bands used to use. There were two larger dressers that sat side by side against the wall near the window. Weights were stacked on top of each other where the dressers ended and the weight bench was on the opposite from that. The mustard colored carpet on the floor had been worn down by time, but was free of debris. Next to his bed was a nightstand with a lamp on it which housed a blue bulb. The room’s one closet was filled with all types of urban fashion his grandmother spoiled him with. Mrs. Edna only asked that Albert finish high school which he had done in June.

It was now September and he was trying to decide if he wanted to enroll in a community college or get a job. Mrs. Edna him wanted him to go to college, but she gave him space to decide his own future. Albert thought about enrolling at Monroe College on Fordham for the spring semester in January. Albert was pulling on a crisp white Nike One, as Monique tried to pass him the banana scented blunt they had been smoking. He took the blunt and pulled on it until the ashes on the tip lit up in an orange fiery glow. He clenched the cigar between his lips while he pulled on his last tennis shoe and closed his left eyelid to protect his eye from the smoke that was flowing upward as bent to lace his shoe. Albert fixed the cuff of his jeans, stood up straight and lightly stomped each foot on the bedroom floor. He looked at Monique and realized they were wearing the exact same colors. Light blue jeans, white tennis shoes, white shirts, and black jackets. He passed the blunt back to Monique, and grabbed a royal blue Yankees fitted. Albert’s hair was thick with wavy curls; his sideburns ran along his jaw line about two quarters of an inch in width blending perfectly with a stencil sharp goatee.

Albert was dark skinned, and dimples formed in his cheeks when he smiled. His nose was small and dully pointed, his eyes were almond shaped, and gave him a look of sensitivity. When Albert and Monique stepped on the elevator, Samantha and her mother Mrs. Quinnoes stepped closer together. Albert and Monique carried on them a faint stench of the marijuana they had smoked. Albert lived on the seventh floor; Mrs. Quinnoes and Samantha lived on the ninth. He had wanted to get with Samantha since they were in elementary school together. Samantha nodded as they got on the elevator. Mrs. Quinnoes was ageless. She didn’t look a day older than she had when he first moved in with his grandmother eight years ago. Mrs. Quinnoes wore purple spandex, purple flip-flops, and a white t-shirt. The t-shirt fell over an unmistakably firm, round, hump. There was a purple and brown scarf over the rollers in her hair. Samantha was wearing a wool skirt, white blouse, black stockings, and a Nine West wide heel tie up. Her single ponytail hung loosely over her left shoulder. Her gray wool pea coat matched her skirt and was unbuttoned.

Albert’s eyes were locked on the third button from the top on her blouse. There was a space were the button met the blouse material. That small space was open exposing the white bra that clung to her breast. Samantha scratched at the back of her head, and plucked some imaginary lent from her coat’s collar. Albert was under the spell of the marijuana and seeing her do this made him chuckle. He didn’t mean to do so out loud, even more so now that all eyes were on him in the elevator. Albert smiled, made a fist with his right hand, put it to his mouth, and shook his head. Mrs. Quinnoes smiled at him. Monique and Samantha looked at each other briefly, neither of them saying a word to the other.

When the elevator door opened up to the lobby, Albert let the women get off ahead of him. Mrs. Quinnoes was the last to get off. As she walked to the mailboxes he watched her backside move the T-shirt up and down. Damn, it looked so soft, Albert thought. As Albert stepped out of the building the sounds of the neighborhood greeted him in intensified tones, due to the blunt he and Monique had smoked earlier. Albert and his grandmother lived in Mott Haven Projects. Albert's building rested in the enclave of other building settlements. The crisp morning air was inviting and felt good as it graced Albert’s face. It was now 10:15. He had spent half an hour in the shower having sex with Monique again before preparing for his day of travels. He and Monique walked toward Third Avenue. As they came out of the projects, Albert saw the local merchants spraying the sidewalks in front of their businesses with water hoses. They would never be able to wash away the stains of poverty that plagued this neighborhood. Monique lived across the ave in Patterson Projects.

When Monique and Albert parted ways, he realized he hadn’t eaten yet. He decided to go to the diner on 149^th and Cortlandt since he needed to deposit some money in the bank right there anyway. Mrs. Edna had given him fifteen hundred dollars for his birthday. She worked two jobs with only six and a half hours in between the two to rest. He often worried that his grandmother worked too hard, but he loved the benefits he got from her labor. For graduation his grandmother had given him five grand. When Albert began to protest, Mrs. Edna silenced him, and said, “All I ask is that you give me my flowers while I’m still living. Make me proud. Don’t let my tears dampen the flowers in your memory.” She was very religious in her own way and always warned Albert that temptation was the devil’s work. The streets stole lives. “Ye who casts the first stone, shall inherit the wounds of my sins,” she would say. Albert wondered why his grandmother didn’t have a boyfriend. She was attractive even at fifty; the edges of her hair were just starting to gray, and her skin was flawless. Not one crack or wrinkle touched her walnut complexion.

Albert had to check some of his boys once for making comments about his grandmother’s figure. He saw his mother every time he looked at her. Teresa, his mother, had gotten out of prison five years ago after a three-year bid and she hadn’t even come to see him when she was released. Instead, she fled to South Carolina to be with another one of his so-called “uncles.” The last Albert heard, his mother was using drugs, and selling her body to support her habit.

Albert purchased his Jordan tennis shoes, and deposited 900.00 dollars in the bank. He had a little over 12,000.00 dollars in a savings account. He tried to deposit a few dollars here and there whenever he had extra money. Mrs. Edna had started the account for him eight years ago when he first came to live with her. He entered the 149^th St. station on Third Avenue. As Albert stood waiting on the platform, he recited the lyrics to the Stephanie Mills song “Feel the Fire.” His train of thought was interrupted when someone tapped him on his arm.

Albert turned to his left, to see a high yellow chick looking into his face. The girl was around 5ft 4inches in height. She was wearing a thin blue butter soft leather with matching boots, a white blouse with blue stripes, and dark blue jeans; that hugged her hips and inner thighs. When she opened her mouth to speak Albert noticed she had a tongue ring. “You got the time?” she asked.

Albert peeked at his watch. “Five to eleven.”

“Good lookin’,” the girl said.

Albert cupped his chin between his index finger and thumb and regarded the girl with an odd stare. “Naw, but you cute,” Albert said.

The girl looked at him with a confused look on her face. “What?” she said, arching her brows and leaning her torso back.

“You said good lookin.’ I said I think you cute,” Albert said, smiling.

The girl started to laugh. “Oh, you got jokes.”

“Naw, not at all. What’s wrong wit’ cute? Babies are cute, stuffed animals are cute. Let me see sumthin’,” Albert said, pulling her close to him, “...we cute together,” he said, still holding her close to his body.

She playfully slapped him in his chest and eased out of his arms. “You crazy.”

“You’re my medication. When can I get a dose?” he asked looking sincerely into her eyes. Just then a train pulled into the station. Albert was waiting for the No. 2 train, but he opted for the No. 5 because that’s the train the girl was getting on. They talked until she got off the train on 125^th Street. Her name was Olive. She lived near The Bronx Zoo. She had told him she was a stripper; her stage name was Power U. She refused to work the clubs in the inner boroughs, because the money was better in the city. Manhattan nights were a goldmine because the clientele was upscale businessmen. They exchanged numbers and parted ways on the 125^th Street platform.

Albert caught an uptown bound No.5 train back to 149^th Street, to begin his journey again. He finally made it downtown at 1:15. He strolled the streets of lower Manhattan going in and out of different shops. By 2:45 he ended up on W.4^th Street in Washington Square Park. Students from NYU were everywhere. He sat on a bench near a group of girls smoking a blunt. Albert pulled out his own bag of nickel; it was actually a twenty sack. He began breaking the buds up in a ten dollar bill. Albert balled the bill up in his fist and set it in his lap. He fished a Dutch master from his jacket pocket and cracked the spine of the cigar with his thumbs and dumped the guts of the cigar at his feet. He opened up the bill and spread the buds throughout the empty cigar leaf and began rolling the buds.

Albert admired his rolling skills. He put the Dutch in his mouth and sucked air through the herb in the Dutch to make sure the Dutch was going to pull right when he lit it. With the cigar hanging out of his mouth, he began to pat his pockets in search of a lighter. After a few seconds, a look of defeat settled on his face. The girls on the other bench near him were looking at him. One of the girls waved a lighter and stuck her tongue out playfully. Albert cracked a smile and walked over to where the girls were sitting and bent down in front of the Latina looking girl with the lighter, the Dutch hanging from his mouth. She flicked the lighter and lit it. He pulled on the Dutch a few times, pulled it out of his mouth and looked at it while smoke flowed from his mouth and nostrils. “Devil’s French kiss,” he said, looking at the female who had given him a light.

“What?” the girl said looking at her friends, giggling.

“You want a shotgun?” The girl shrugged her shoulders. “Well you gonna’ haf ta stand up,” Albert said, really wanting to get a better look at her body.

“Naw, you sit down,” the girl said, standing up to let him sit where she had just been sitting. As soon as Albert sat down she plopped her fleshy buttocks down on his lap. He put the Dutch in his mouth with the lit end entering his mouth first. The girl gently grabbed his cheek and cupped the Dutch with her other hand. As he blew, she inhaled until her lungs filled with smoke. When she pulled away Albert expected her to start choking, but she never did. She remained seated on his lap, and finally, she began to exhale smoke from her mouth. “That was a peck, when do I get the tongue action?” she said, as her friends began to laugh. Albert smiled and puckered his lips. She grasped his face between her palms and kissed him full on the lips, her tongue warm and welcoming in his mouth. Their eyes were locked in a gaze as they kissed.

When they finally came up for air one of the other girls said, “Damn, Cinnamon, you think you could be any more forward?”

Cinnamon shifted on Albert’s lap to face her friend who had made the comment. “Go after what you want, or watch somebody else get it.”

“I know that’s right,” one of the other girls said.

Cinnamon was wearing a one-shoulder denim and suede skirt, with brown suede boots to match the suede on the denim. Her hair hung loosely around the top of her shoulders and was the color of Lawry’s seasoned salt. Her thick, light, caramel legs glowed in the afternoon sun. “So you go to school here, playboy?”

“Naw, I’m down here shopping,” Albert said motioning toward the bags he had left near the other bench.

Cinnamon hopped off his lap and rushed toward the bags. “What you bought?” she asked lifting one of the Jordans out of the bag. “What size iz chu’?”

“Large,” Albert said, smiling.

Cinnamon looked at him with a sneer. “Big mouth, big foot, little dick,” Cinnamon said, putting the tennis shoe back in the box. A couple of her friends laughed at her comment. Albert threw up his hands and lowered his head in an act of defeat.

“Awww, don’t be sad. I’m sure you can make up for it in other ways,” she said, with a wink as she made a sprint back toward him and returned to his lap.

Albert was amazed at her energy and high level of spontaneity; it attracted him to her. He invited her and her friends to come with him while he looked for a hat. At 4:30 he parted ways with the group of girls at the 1, 2, 3, and 9 trains at Chambers St. station. As he headed back uptown Albert programmed Olive and Cinnamon’s phone numbers into his phone and ripped up the pieces of paper the numbers were written on. He had learned from his Uncle Dave to never keep females phone numbers in your pocket too long. If the numbers were important enough you would commit them to memory. Albert was on his way to see the man who taught him this.

Albert knew he would find Dave at Neil’s barbershop on 152^nd. He also knew his uncle would have something nice for his birthday. Last year Dave had given him six floor seats to the Knicks game. Albert had sat right next to Spike Lee and to his right was Rhonda. Rhonda was his only one time true girlfriend. She had been a senior last year and graduated ahead of Albert and went off to Georgia Tech. He still called her every once in awhile, but that romance had flickered in the wind and blew out. He wasn’t bitter; he knew he was young and had time to meet many more attempts at love or at least lust. Olive and Cinnamon were proof of that, not to mention the 31-year-old registered nurse he was moonlighting with that worked at Lincoln Hospital. He made a mental note to call her later.

As the train pulled into 135^th street station, the last stop in Harlem for the No.2, a group of loud mouth girls got on the train. One of the girls fell into Albert as the train pulled out of the station. She looked at him and said, “Excuse me.” Albert smiled slyly.

CHAPTER 2

Kania was trying to hold her breath. The stench from Carlton’s body made her nauseous. Kania closed her eyes and a tear squeezed from her right lid. Why did she keep doing this to herself? If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to survive. The cold reality was that Kania had been sleeping with grown men for money since she was fourteen. That was when her mother’s abusive boyfriend had killed her mother in a fit of rage. Her mother had gone to the corner store without a bra on. Kania had been sent to live with her grandparents in Queens. She quickly realized that staying with them wasn’t going to work. They were very religious and strict. She eventually ran away and ventured back into her Brownsville, Brooklyn neighborhood only to realize how cold the world really was.

People she thought were her friends looked at her like she was crazy when she told them she needed some place to stay. Reality hit Kania that she was alone in this world. She knew men lusted after her body so she used it as a bargaining tool to get the things she needed; she didn’t have any wants, just needs.

Carlton was the grotesquely overweight superintendent of the rooming house she was living in. This sickening sex act was her rent payment. Carlton wouldn’t accept money from her. He told her she could have her room for the whole month free as long as she brought him some of that “sweet stuff” at the beginning of the month. If she didn’t like his lease agreement she could find other housing. To Kania, this was the cheapest housing in New York City. She had already figured her body was her tuition through life, and rent was due.

Kania closed her eyes and tried to mentally prepare for the worst five minutes of her life. Carlton grunted as he squeezed all five inches of himself into her. He looked at the tear that had formed the moisture around Kania’s eye. He had the nerve to feed his famished ego, thinking that his little musky pecker could cause such a reaction. She ignored his movements inside her along with his grunts of pleasure. She thought instead about how beautiful her mother was. Rebbeca. All the men in the neighborhood had wanted her, even the sharp brothers and white men in suits leered over her mother when they used to travel into the city. Rebbeca chose Blue. Let that fowl Negro get a hold of her and poison her. Kania shivered thinking about it, causing Carlton to press more of his body weight into her, in an attempt to give her some type of pleasure. Blue didn’t deserve her mother and he knew it, that’s why he always beat her, because she was beautiful.

She had begged her mother to leave Blue. She remembered the Saturday mornings the three of them were sitting in her mother’s bedroom. How pretty her mother had looked the night before when she and Blue had gone out. She always heard them come in. Sometimes she would hear their laughter and then she would hear her mother cursing God and praising Blue. Kania was thankful for the headboard; it helped muffle their tones a bit. Then there were the other times when she would hear her mother screaming for Blue to get off her, and that she hated him. She’d hear him beating her mother through the walls. The next day he’d be laying in that king sized bed like nothing happened. The minute her mother moved anywhere out of his sight, she would rush to her side and beg her to take them away where he wouldn’t find them. Rebbeca would just smile through swollen and bruised lips and say, “Love hurts sometimes. I’ll be alright and you’ll understand when you get older.” But Kania would never understand.

Carlton screamed out as if he was in pain as he released. He stuffed his face into the pillow and began panting. His entire 318 lbs. went limp having a crushing effect on Kania’s body. She squirmed beneath him struggling to free herself. Carlton finally rolled off of her body on to his back. “Whew! Girl you almost kilt me. I may have to think ‘bout lowerin’ ya rent,” Carlton chuckled, still trying to catch his breath.

Kania eased off the bed and headed toward the sink in the corner of the room. As she walked to the sink she slipped on one of Carlton’s dirty sweat socks, and cursed. She turned on the hot water, and grabbed Carlton’s face cloth and the bar of soap that was on the basin. She ran the cloth under the hot water and soaped it up, ran it between her legs scrubbing her pussy and inner thighs. When she was done she put on her housecoat and slippers and left without saying a word to Carlton.

When Kania got back to her room she set out her clothes across her bed and grabbed all her shower items. The rooming house only had one bathroom per floor, so tenants had to share it as well as the shower and kitchen. She had bought a miniature refrigerator that she kept in her room. The room space was small but it was large enough for a dresser, her bed, a small table, and a closet. The inside of the closet was filled with clothes. There were clothes on hangers, in duffle bags, and plastic bags. Kania kept her wardrobe in tip top shape. She had rows of tennis shoes and regular shoes under her bed. Some were in the closet in plastic bags still in the boxes.

Unlike the other tenants in the rooming house she didn’t have to worry about her room being robbed. Aside from Carlton who would kick out anyone he even suspected of threatening his source of coochie, there was Big Freddy, a bouncer that worked at Manhattans trendy nightlife spots on the weekends and strip clubs during the week. He had tried to encourage her to work in some of the strip clubs he worked at. She politely declined. Kania wasn’t about to work in no strip club. She had a specific clientele that consisted of some of New York’s most prominent street hustler’s and stick up kids. At nineteen she had probably had seen more guns and drugs than a seasoned N.Y.P.D. detective.

Kania got out of the shower and got dressed. She had to hustle to Kings Plaza and buy some new outfits. She was meeting Munch, a Brooklyn bad boy who did everything from sell drugs to extorting today’s youth favorite gangsta rapper. She had been out in a club with him one night when one of these so-called rappers came into the V.I.P. where they were chilling. Soon as Munch saw him he rushed his table. Munch grabbed the bottle of champagne from the bucket, popped the cork, and poured it on the rapper. He then smacked him in the face twice in front of his entire entourage and security. Munch snatched the rapper’s chain off and threw it in the bucket of ice. He told the rapper he was the only reason he was alive and he better get his money to him before he tossed him to the streets.

Kania couldn’t believe what she had just seen It was at that moment she knew what Karen Hill was feeling when Henry walked up and handed her that gun in the movie Goodfellas. She always felt at ease when she was around Munch and he really had it too. He wasn’t one of those on again off again hustler’s he was always on. He was getting paper for real. He was taking her to Atlantic City for the weekend.

Kania pulled on her Khaki fisher man’s hat. She thought about her life savings of $7,890. A little while longer and she would have enough to move out of this rat hole rooming house; maybe even uptown. She always liked the vibe up in Harlem, everybody seemed to have it going on. Kania knew she couldn’t stop sexing for bucks, but if she could sink her nails into one of those uptown ballers…the possibilities. She slid into her beige army jacket that matched her beige fatigues and Timberland boots. She often dressed liked this when she was going out and didn’t want to be bothered. It never worked; she was cursed with her mother’s beauty. Kania had very light skin and chinky eyes. Her nose was broad but fit her facial profile along with her thick, full, lips. She was only a B-cup, but her shapely hips, thighs, and firm, round, buttocks compensated for her lack of chest.

Kania decided to spark a joint before she left the rooming house. She lit an incense stick and lit the tip of her joint with it before waving the flame out. She lit the incense because she didn’t want anyone in the rooming house to know what she did in her personal time. She was very private. When she wasn’t out on dates she seemed almost anti-social. She didn’t have any close girlfriends and rarely allowed anyone in her room. She never let any of her dates pick her up or drop her off at the rooming house. She listened to Hot 97 while she smoked; they were playing an old school mix. Kania swayed with the beat to Buck Shot Shorty’s “Got Ya Open.” She finished her joint, grabbed her cell phone, keys, and her cigarettes. She shut the radio off and looked around her room once more to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, and headed out the door.