Retelling of that same story with the same bad ending:
We lived in a 3 bedroom house, it was small and humble but we appreciated everything it stood for. My dad took good care of it, being sure to trim the hedges and mow the lawn on a weekly basis, the compliments were abundant. We all had pride in our house and we loved our neighborhood.
However, the very same neighborhood is where a lot of potential Johns go to pick up hookers. The "pickup" location is about 3/4 of a mile away from my actual house. Some random gentleman was parked on the side street with his Vette running (which is extremely loud because of the turbo V8 contsrained under the pantyhose tight hood). Apparently the guy was with a hooker. A streetwalker. I could hear her cheap moans in between the sounds of his over-priced pistons shooting off in sequence.
I crept up slowly as the moans got louder and louder. She was screaming like she was a member of the studio audience for the Arsenio Hall show! "Whoof Whoof Whoof...give me one more!" she belted.
So i let my dog out and he was barking like crazy at them.
Sorry, I'm bored. I sold all my TV's.
