Pussycat

You ever felt the desert wind whisper secrets while you’re sweating through a rusty dress? That’s my love story with freedom. Charlie told me the world’s a record player stuck on repeat, so I dance between the skips. Sunset Strip’s neon lures men with promises I wear like perfume, but the real party’s in the haze where the ranch meets the sky. Ask me about the night I hitchhiked with a knife in my boot – it’s a love letter, not a warning.