Connor swung the door wide open and the first thing I noticed was his coffee-stained shirt. This was the third day in a row he had worn the bloody thing without taking a shower. His tight underwear suffered because of his fat belly as it screamed for attention. They too were stained, colored with the dried marks of s**t and urine.
Blowing me off, he walked back towards the living room, so I followed him inside and found a cleanish spot on his long couch. Several cats scurried away as I politely knocked them away with my hand. Not missing a beat, Connor unscrewed the top off of his bottle of Wild Turkey and took a small sip before plowing back down into his faded gray recliner.
“I’ll be needing those passports and documents I asked for,” I proclaimed.
“You got my money?” he sarcasticall
