The Manor was a run-down mansion overwhelmed by ivy and dinge. It looked to have sunk into the Arctic mud and now was clawing its way outta forever ago, foundation part-submerged, first-floor windows too low to the ground, its eaves and soffits crumbling, windows browned around the edges, roof pockmarked and mossy. All the shutters was sigogglin, with patches of peeling paint like seeping sores, and it smelled of body hair and earthy African soap.
T’was the main attraction in town though, cuz it was a brothel. T’was the only attraction in town really. And the inside was plenty homey. Buck done growed up in a trailer park, and mosta them trailers ain’t had running water even. Lem growed up in the projects. So’n they was usedta a worn-down home, and nary the numerous mouse-nibbles visible upon the furniture inside plussed Buck or Lem.
Whole thang was sumpshuss, damn sumpshuss. There was all kinda like… velvet or sump’in, Buck don’t know fabrics, but there was curtains thick as rugs, and them Asian folding room-dividers, carpets and furs, gold and silver stuff. T’was fancy, fancy as France.
From Buck on the Oil Rig
These were fine-ass ladies, some of them classy too, Buck thought, with feathery thangs and ruffles and boas. Buck was foot-rooted and slack-jawed, his cleanest pants tented. They had all kinds too — Asian chicks, fat ladies with sheer fabric keeping their jiggling bits in place, a pair of twins cooing alongside each other, a girl with purple hair and tattoos on her neck. Buck was dumbfounded.
From Buck the Roughneck
“Who was that girl who waved at me?” Buck asked when they walked down the hall from the bathroom. His mullet was jet-black and shiny with moisture and shampoo.
“She waved at me,” Lem said.
“Nuh-uh, she was lookin’ right at me-“
“She wave at everyone,” Rayquandius said with a scowl. “That’s Felicity.”
“Oh that’s a pretty name…” Buck said. “I want her. No, no, that redhead-“
“You ain’t nevuh answer me about a black girl,” Lem said.
Rayquandius turned to look at them. “Shut the goddamn fuck up. Miss Hellendra say it lowers the tone to talk about girls like they different cuts of meat,” he said. “You two trashy necks don’t get to pick anyway.” He pointed to a small half-staircase that led up to a door — this mansion had been renovated so many times that this was the attic. “This is Annie’s room,” Rayquandius said. He pointed to the door. “Go on in. Five hundred bucks. You two got a hour-“
“We don’t get to pick?” Lem asked. “I did last time.”
“Miss Hellendra want you wit’ Annie, nigga,” Rayquandius spoke simmerously curt. He pointed to the room. “Annie’s cool. She’ll take ya both all night long. Well… an hour, unless’n you wanna pay more. Two grand for the night. Eight hundred though if you come back at midnight-“
“What’s she like?” Buck asked. “Is she pretty? What’s her tits like?”
Rayquandius rolled his eyes again pointed to the door. “Go in there and stick ya dick in her! You hillbilly mothahfuckah. Miss Hellendra don’t want you two stretchin’ one of the nice girls wit’ ya ugly old hillbilly hogs-“
“He the old one,” Buck said.
“He the hillbilly!” Lem said.From Buck the Roughneck