<pants heavily, hissing in pain>
I told him I wouldn't go anymore, but I did anyway. Lucky for me he doesn't have to know, their policy in the tattoo shop usually keeps him busy beyond the designated end of the shift so I can get away with coming back to the apartment pretty late.
Why would I make up excuses anyway, he's not the boss of me! Why the fuck would -I- care what he thinks? What is he going to do, hold me hostage? I ought to drag the punk-ass bitch with me next time and let him get beat up, perhaps then he'll stop choking the apartment with cologne like a fucking queer and grow a pair. I don't even remember his natural musk anymore.
Whatever, as long as I don't step on another fucking bottle on the way home I won't have to hear him bitch anyway.

And why the FUCK does every corner of this god damn parking lot smell like piss?!