Ghetto Girl

Ricky was snoring beside her on the couch, an ankle monitor strapped around his spindly leg. He was drooling too, comatose still from passing out after his last hit. Emily wasn't thinking clearly either, dressed only in a sports bra and a pair of panties. She took a swig of warm water, letting it slosh around in her mouth, unsatisfied. She walked to the door, opening up the door itself, only the screen door between her and the outside.

There was that strip club, its neon sign an affront to most right thinking people. There was where Ricky got their drugs. She put her head against the doorframe. Fuckin' hot since they shut the power off, she thought.

She saw a Black man across the street, playing ball. He was chiseled, his skin tone the deepest Black. Emily shivered. Did she not like it? Or did she want it?