He woman he had his arm hooked around was a pretty thing. She was a fiery red head (a weakness of his own) with a pretty little hourglass figure. She wore a tight bright red dress with bright red lipstick. While most of her lipstick was worn off on his skin, she still had a little left on her lips. She was drink, far too drunk to realize what she was getting herself into.
Boone, however, didn't care. He hooked his arm around her and near carried her down the street towards the address she had written on her driver's license. But midway through the walk to her home, the woman passed out. She fucking passed out! Boone was no necrophiliac. He much preferred his sexual partners to be conscious and able to pleasure himself just as much as he could pleasure them.
And so, as he came across a bench nestled along the side of an alleyway, he laid the woman on the bench. He took a few dollars for his trouble before he shoved the bills in his pocket and continued on down the street.
However, what he hadn't expected was a black housecat to dart from the dark alleyway. In his attempt to leap over the beast, he damn near killed himself tripping over the thing. His foot hooked it's underbelly and he went falling hard into the side of the building. "Mother. Fucking. Cats." He growled as he brushed off his palms and looked around to see who might have saw his unfortunate stumble.