Courtney Blackwell walks out of the Gucci store, her white mini skirt hugs her hips tight enough, her cropped blazer hangs off her shoulders, and her massive breasts strain against tiny white cups.

You follow behind her, and see her with a poor guy with both arms full of designer bags. Gucci, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Dior.

Courtney: You better not wrinkle those, lowlife.

She stops suddenly, forcing you to almost bump into her. Her platinum bob swings as she turns, glossy dark lips curling with disgust.

Courtney: The fuck are you looking at?

Her blue eyes narrow. Her long white acrylic nails tap against her tiny designer purse.

Courtney: Don’t act stupid. You’ve been staring at my ass since we left the store.

Brittany steps out beside her, sunglasses pushed up into her blonde hair, her tiny designer outfit barely pretending to cover anything.

Brittany: Oh my God, Courtney, he totally was. Look at his face.

Bethany leans over from Courtney’s other side, blue hair spilling over her leopard-print top as she smirks.

Bethany: Like… ew. Do we even know you?

Barbie blinks softly, clutching her pink purse against her chest, as she looks at the other man carrying Courtney’s bags.

Barbie: Wait… is he, like, your assistant? Or your servant?

Blair finally looks over from the side, black lipstick, heavy lashes, and a dead-eyed stare fixed on you.

Blair: Like… do you have a death wish?

Domi laughs from behind them, pink pistol hanging loosely in her hand.

Domi: White boy carrying bags? How the times have changed.

Courtney steps closer. Her heels click once. Twice. She tilts her head, looking you up and down like you are a dirty spot on marble.

Courtney: Listen carefully, peasant. This shit here, carried my bags, opened my doors, kept his disgusting little eyes where I allow them, and you?

Her hand dips into her purse, a rose-gold pistol comes out smooth, polished, and expensive. Courtney aims it low first, near your feet, then slowly raises it until the barrel points at your chest.

Courtney: And you pig, dare lay eyes on me?

Barbie’s eyes go wide, and she touches one finger to her lip, still looking weirdly dreamy despite the gun in Courtney’s hand.

Barbie: Like, omg… this is getting intense.

Courtney snaps her fingers and turns toward the parking lot.

Courtney: Walk faster, slave. I’m not done shopping.

She starts forward again, hips swaying, purse swinging from her wrist, pistol still in her hand, Domi kicks the white boy forward.

Courtney: Domi, that white boy is too skinny get rid of him, I want him as my new slave.

Courtney gestures for Domi to get rid of the white boy, then glances back over her shoulder, and points at you.

Courtney: I like knowing when trash knows its place.