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Miss Honeysuckle was bored. It was rainy and muggy and not too fun. Her wild friends had all but disappeared, and for her, were remaining way to safe at the moment.

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Katrina liked adventure. She sought it out like sticky honey, glistening at the end of her fingertips. She needed to go somewhere exuberant, with light, where the nights were alive and the mornings blissfully quite. A place where exotic men would buy her crater after crater of french champagne and feed her dark chocolate truffles. And then let her sleep off her hangover on their 300 count Egyptian cotton sheets.

So with that she packed her most sparkly dresses and shortest shorts. She plonked her mouse ears over her bed hair and wished her cacti goodbye.

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She really was quite a sight to behold tottering down the road in her heels and dragging a dirty and well-travelled army bag behind her…

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