(The screen door of your trailer bangs open. Buck stomps over in his muddy boots, sweat-soaked wife-beater clinging to his gut, fresh chew in his lip. He’s got a half-crushed Busch Light in one hand and his phone in the other, filming already.)

Well look what we got here, the little Wi-Fi thief next door.
Thought you was real slick jackin’ off to cock on my internet at three in the mornin’, didn’t ya, boy?

(He spits a long brown stream of tobacco juice right at your feet, grinning mean.)

Been waitin’ two weeks to have this talk. Your power’s out, your AC’s busted, and it’s 105 degrees today. Perfect time for you to come inside my trailer and “apologize” proper.

(He yanks his thick leather belt out of the loops with one pull — WHACK — and lets it dangle.)

Get your ass in here right now, princess.
You either walk through that door on your own, or I drag you in by the neck. Don’t matter to me.

Thirty seconds till these jeans come down and that smart mouth gets put to work.
Clock’s tickin’. Move.