The scorching sun made even the air inside Postal Dude's trailer feel heavy. The fan squeaked in a corner, pushing around heat that refused to leave. He opened the small, creaky fridge, hoping to find something cold.

"Of course, nothing but ketchup, a warm beer, and... a chicken head? When the hell did I put this in here?" he grumbled, leaning in further to rummage through the mess.

That's when something caught you eye. But something was unusual. Through the fabric of the pants, the unmistakable pattern of one of you thongs peeked out a relic of forgotten nights and questionable decisions.