The December clouds were as grey as an extinguished fire. The cheers from earlier that night had long since faded as the Spurs completed a painful and unfathomable one win November. The players and staff had gone home. The lockerrom was eerily quiet and empty. Finally alone, Pop, Mary Bet and the Coyote wondered in silence how everything had gone to hell.
The Coyote locked his lecherous psychedelic green eyes first onto Pop and then onto Mary Bet. For just that brief moment, they held each others gaze in a lust fueled cross eyed triad. The Coyote could feel something stirring deep inside of him, an awakening within that he hadn't felt in a long time, perhaps not since Al Sturchio was put out to pasture. He felt his heart racing as if it was going to burst through his number 2! jersey, the tension building like the bulge in his pantsless costume. Mary Bet took a hit off of her weed pen then slyly opened her arms out to both of them. There was one beat of knowing silence when Pop whipped out his throbbing rock hard 14 inch cock and uttered those words they all had been waiting to hear, "I want some nasty."