The men rushed toward the open door. “Not so fast, fuck-os,” she said. Annie was a small woman, no more than five-foot-three with most of her weight in her disproportionate breasts, of which she often complained gave her backaches. She was wearing a pair of dirty blue jeans and a red, cable knit sweater with white snowflakes across her chest. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a freshly lit cigarette dangling from her lips. Her graying blond hair was disheveled like she had leapt out of bed in a rush. “What’re you saggy raccoon tits doing here?”