Washington Epilogue

Tony died 12 years later, at 78. Carrie was 39. She'd been bred 6 times by the ancient buck, 5 boys and a girl, who was still nursing on her. Rondell and Slim were unusually polite to her in the aftermath, and Carrie did truly grieve the loss.

After the funeral, she quietly ate her fried chicken from Rondell's fast food place, contemplating her future. A dreadlocked youth, barely out of high school, approached her.

"Sorry about Great Uncle Tony," he mumbled. She recognized him now -- Darnell, the grandchild of Tony's brother Jeremiah. The father of Jerome, who she should have stuck with.

"Thanks Darnell."

"Ummm ... is it true, about your tattoos?" Carrie sighed.

"It is."

"Can I see?" He tugged her to the bathroom, dwarfing her at 6'7. She obeyed, lifting up her skirt to show the tattoos of Africa and Black power. Her ass was very large now, from years of being bred and fast food. Darnell whistled.

"Come on, Auntie, take me upstairs," he said. Carrie chuckled. She'd never get away from these Washington men, she supposed.