Part 2 of the continuing saga of Uncle Sugar, giga-pimp, and Jane Doe, his hapless, captive crack ho. Read part 1 here
Little dapples of light stabbing through the tattered hotel room curtains made it impossible for Jane to stay asleep. Uncle Sugar snored noisily next to her. The crack pipe lay cold and empty, it's effects now but a bitter fog in her head.
She clicked on the TV, where a bright, cheery young woman was extolling the virtues of Denver Technical College, where "a young woman can become a professional in less than a year! Manicure, hairdressing, and hundreds of other careers..."
"Yeah," Jane thought, hope and optimism coming to life within her. She hit the floor, gathered up her meager possessions and headed for the door.
"Where you goin'?" growled Sugar, suddenly awake.
Jane, full of confidence now, announced, "I'm outta here."
Uncle Sugar glanced at the tail end of the commercial and laughed that low, slow, derisive laugh of his.
"Where you gonna get your food. How you gonna make money?" He bit off the last word and let his questions sink in.
Jane hadn't thought of that...
"Where you gonna live? Those folks out in the suburbs ain't gonna put you up in a hotel like Uncle Sugar does."
Jane was crumbling inside, but she kept up her outward defiance.
"How about your health care. Ain't nobody besides Uncle Sugar gonna pay for all them abortions and contraceptional luxuries."
That stopped her cold. It was too much. She couldn't do it and she felt ashamed and stupid for believing that she could. Defeated, she crawled slowly back into bed and stared at the scabby ceiling.
"Huh uh," grunted Sugar. "Roll over..."
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