THE FUTURE IS WEST
Once upon a time, a city girl hopped in a car—and drove until cacti scraped the sky. Here, high heels were made for stirrups. Shade was sun, and at night, the moon was disco ball-bright. Her suitcase was empty (is wanderlust planned?) The scenery filled it: wildflower plaids, velvety tracksuits, dusty trench coats, biker-bar studs.
Cell reception fading, the girl made friends with a local: a scorpion, fond of lounging on burnout tees and kimonos and rhinestone jackets (and, from time to time, a honky-tonk dance floor). When she returned to civilization, he came, too. Was it true love, or just a sting?