The door is ajar. You slip pass Tommy as he snores in a drunken stupor. You notice there are a dozen empty bottles strewn in the grass near the porch. Amazing how the slobbifier rewrote history. You push the door open, but something is blocking it. You inhale and slip through the opening. The doorknob bumps your tented jeans, but its the only way in. Inside your eyes adjust to the dim light. The windows are blocked by stacks of boxes and bundles of old newspapers. A couple half-full plastic bags of trash with pizza boxes sticking out of them are heaped behind the front door blocking easy egress. The murky fish tank catches your eye as the only real light source in the room. A single dirty moldy sock is draped over and inside the aquarium. A pair of holey stained briefs are hanging from a top the lampshade of the bent floor lamp. You feel for the lightswitch on the wall. It's grimy covered with dried pizza sauce. The light comes on as you wipe your fingers off on the dusty drapes. With the light passing through them, you can't butt help but notice the dark streak running through them.
"Skidmark," you mumble and giggle.
You're only in the living room. You can't wait to check out the bedroom, bath and kitchen. You start to wade through the foot high trash on the floor and trip. You find your face buried in Tommy's dirty laundry. You inhale deeply recalling the smooth hot musclestud, then you freak as you recall the hairy tub of lard that Tommy now is thanks to you.