To a crackhouse

 "Oh, you'll see.  And hopefully, you'll not want to **** ever again."  He said with a malicious chuckle.  They drove passed the nice, manicured lawns of the suburb she lived in.  They drove over the bridge, and passed the downtown area.  She knew that unless they were taking some sort of shortcut, they were headed into the ghetto...

   And that was exactly where they were going.  When the door opened, Sandra was staring at what looked like an abandoned warehouse.  Only a faint hint of light escaped from between the boarded up windows.  The driver stepped forward, and knocked on the door.  Sandra heard a gunshot in one direction, and an ambulance in the other.  If she turned right, she saw a liquor store.  If she turned left, she saw a Pawn Shop.  Thugs and crackheads meandered up and down the street.

   The door opened.  A wild eyed black man stood there, a .45 in his hand.  He wore a white wife beater and jeans that hung around his mid-thighs.  "Whatchu wan' Mayne? " he asked, tweeked out of his gourd.  The driver leaned in, and whispered something.  "Oh, DAYM!!!" the man replied, and stumbled back in the mock laugh of the urban adult.  "Okay, we'll "babysit" for you."  He said.

   He stumbled/ pimpwalked over to Sandra, and took her by the arm.  She looked at her former assaulters questioningly.  One of them stepped forward to go with her.  The thug wore a sports jersey with sweatpants and hi-tops.  He smelled of burnt rubber and marijuana.  She was worried.  What had happened to her so far had been dirty, but this was far outside even the most corrupt cop's domain.  Still, the "cops" only grinned as she was led into an alley.  Bums and heroin needles littered her path.  She was led to an unlit door.  Her "escort"  knocked three times.  He shook his head as if there were something inside that he wanted to get out, wiped his nose, grinned at her, and waited for the door to open.  Sandra didn't know what was going on.  The guy who had face fucked her earlier accompanied them.  

   When the door opened, she saw 30 people inside.  The smell of burnt rubber was intense.  Everyone seemed to be on some sort of production line.  She looked at the last table.  Crack.  This was a crack house.  With a quick shove, she was inside.  Her new "escort" whistled.  

   "Yo!  Listen up!  We got some new entetainment for ya'lls break tonight."  Sandra glared at him.  His oversized lips parted, revealing a gold grill set in a predatory sneer...