Steel do love spending time with ladies. Not just white women neither, but tonight, Steel want a white lady. A white lady with a name like Courtney or Beth. She’d prolly taste like a sunrise. Steel was imagineering a hypothetical Courtney when he opened the door to the rollicking bar.
Turned out the women was all drunk. Steel realized that the moment he stepped in and saw ’em flopping, jiggling they stuff, guzzling, straight-up guzzling beer and bourbon and all kinda tasty beverages. No doubt quenching they thirsts! No doubt! Rum! He was still picturing a pretty Courtney who was like a college student, maybe in nursing college, that’d be hot, with a nice face and clean hair, prolly wearing like a miniskirt or something, you know how white bitches do! That weren’t the kinda white women in Lipsweet though. The Jagged Right was a biker gang, so the women here was the kinda sturdy, trashy bitch who prolly got names like Wilma or Sparkplug.
That one honky, the one who took the beer Steel ain’t drink, he seemed to think Steel only wanted liquor and went off to get him a shotta bourbon, but then he got drunkenly distracted cuz one the white bitches — prolly a Wilma — took her top off, and she got tits like liquid polar bears in sacs of milk and honey, shit, got that honky tripping. Steel too.
