It was hardly the post-coital afterglow he had read about.

Staring at the ceiling, he noted where the soot of a long-forgotten room fire had ignited the curtains sending acrid fumes in a northbound retreat. Some asshole had left his Camel on the window ledge while he wiggled the rabbit ears on the sorry excuse for a TV that was wedged into the corner. But he didn't know any of that, all he knew was he'd just spent $30.00 for a spin with a working girl who refused to even take off her skirt, it was much more efficacious to just drop her panties, which she did after he produced his end of the transaction.

He’d spent another $30.00 for the room. His check hadn’t been in his hands for 30 minutes and he was doing his best to piss the whole thing away in one night. He stood up and caught his reflection in the mirror.

It was the only piece of glass in the room that wasn’t cracked. The windows were scratched and had spidery fingers into their corners and the lone glass on the nightstand had a chip that he spun to the other side as he poured himself a shot of bourbon earlier. A small pellet or BB had nicked the surface of the television which probably hadn’t bothered many of the room’s prior patrons.

Looking at his pale and pimpled flesh, he was repulsed by his flaccid and lifeless member. The accompanying bits, dangled about far from his frame as the summer heat drew them away from his sweaty and unwashed body. Nature’s way of preserving and keeping viable the life bearing fluid they were prepared to secrete. In Jack Spence’s case the only exodus they would see in the upcoming days would be at his hand or as a result of another three sawbuck expenditure.