He’s been late to work for three days in a row thanks to the ineffable lack of majesty of his car, so he gets called into the boss’s office.

The boss is an attractive older Asian woman with stern, horn-rimmed glasses, a no-nonsense black business suit and luxurious black hair twisted up into a bun. “You’ve been tardy repeatedly, Mr. Minchew. I’m afraid I’ll have to discipline you.” She closes the blinds and lets her hair cascade down her back.

“Ah, geez,” he says, and bends over the desk, already hard.

Later, still smarting, he orders a pizza and contemplates a night in. When the darkly handsome boy arrives with the large sausage, of course he can’t find his wallet. “Maybe we can work something out,” he tells the kid, doing his best to smolder.

“Ah, geez,” says the kid, “you’re the fifth one tonight. I gotta start drinkin’ those protein shakes.”

Still later, he’s watching an MMA match on tv. The two fighters, a scrappy Latina girl from the wrong side of the tracks and a professional Nordic pug from an uptown gym, brutally pummel each other for seventeen rounds until the scrappy pins the pug down and begins fisting her. The pug screams her orgasm to the crowd and their records flicker onscreen, 35-12-3 for the scrappy and 52-76-13 for the pug.

“Ah, geez,” he says. He’ll have to square things with his bookie tomorrow or the next day. She’s a real hard-ass, an attractive black woman in her mid-thirties, maybe slightly alcoholic and impatient. He’s light on cash at the moment, but they should be able to work something out in trade.