Coffee GirlZ: Granny Walks the Back Alley
South Dallas, gray sky, cold wind cutting through the alley behind the hotel. She’s moving slow with that cane, thick hips rolling in those tight dark jeans like she owns every cracked piece of pavement. The denim is faded right where it counts, hugging every curve, every heavy bounce with every careful step. Black jacket flapping open, cream sweater riding up just enough to show the soft roll at her waist.
I caught up easy. “Ma’am, you look like you could use a hand… and maybe a coffee.” She turned, eyes sharp, smirk slow. “Coffee’s cheap, baby. Help’s even cheaper if you know how to ask right.”
So I asked. Told her I’d cover her room for the night if she let me shoot her right there in the alley first — no rush, no pressure, just those thick thighs and that fat ass walking for the camera like she was born for it. She laughed low, took the cash, and kept strolling. Cane tapping, hips swaying harder now that she knew eyes were on her. Every step made the jeans creak. Every pause let the wind press the fabric tighter.
Behind the hotel, trash bags rustling, chain-link fence rattling, she stopped, looked back over her shoulder, and gave me the look that said: “This what you paid for?”
Brewed thick. Served cheap. Coffee GirlZ, South Dallas edition.
