He stopped at Brentwood Apartments. He gots a situation to deal with. One his bitches called his cell — not a text, she phoned. That’s how you know it’s serious. He told his bitches to call if they got troubles. Texts is for trifles.
The bitch was Bethlyn. She was a high-yellow female with wide hips and tits you can believe in, a pussy that goes on and on and legs that connect her feet to a delicious ass. Her body be thick but not fat, real nice. And she was only twenty-something, so she got years of tautness in her tang. She stood like a shapely traffic cone in the doorway to one the apartments on the second floor of Brentwood. It was a trash-high shithole, and she shimmied in her slinky dress like she was unaware of the trashy environs when she peeped her eyes upon his handsomeness Slim Jay.
“Hmmm, hi baby, love you,” she said when Slim Jay arrivated in the apartment. He gave her a nigga nod but strode in on the lookout for a jiving john.
From Slim Jay the Pimp
