After giving birth,
Courtney resigns to selling
her two-seater coupe.

For a minivan.
Only one problem- she can’t
afford a new car.

Diapers, daycare and
doctor visits have tapped out
her savings account.

She’s distressed about
money, ready to sell her
soul for the van funds.

But then discovers
the internal gold mine is
not soul, but breast milk.

It turns out some folks
are willing to pay to drink
a stranger’s breast milk.

Pay a lot. All for
the claim of weight loss. Does it
work? (Does it matter?)

Casually builds
her clients: gym goers and
disordered eaters.

But as sales climb to
$60/day, she
gets intense (greedy).

She seeks out body
conscious people, hustling trained
dancers and sports teams.

Then, she strikes gold. A
local bodybuilding show
is happening soon.

The competitors
catch wind of her business and
request bulk orders.

Courtney can’t keep up
with the demand. It’s stressing
her out. Nerves are frayed.

So frayed, that her milk
supply, the business model’s
key driver, is dry.

The bodybuilders
are counting on her. And are
hangry from strict prep.

On the threshold of
selling her soul, she lowers
her moral standards.

With this new mindset,
she spies a mom with baby
and a diaper bag.

Is it a mirage?
Or is there a bottle in
the bag? Yeah buddy.

With the ease of a
pickpocket, hoping it’s breast
milk, she pilfers it.

Not only is it
not breastmilk, it’s vodka in
a faux-bottle flask.

To numb the stress, she
takes a swig. Or two. Or Three.
Ok, she chugs it.

Bodybuilders weigh
in while Courtney is passed out
under a shade tree.