Dressed to Kill… And Nowhere to Go

Black leather pants. Snakeskin cowboy boots. Leopard print cardigan. Studded belt. All rocked by the number one stud. Cock of the walk. Swaggering about my cramped film set. One shot to the next. Softboxes turning up the heat. Further drying out my already dry hair during an arid autumn unusual for Arkansas. Sweat begins to break ever so slightly. Forcing me to somehow take it easy while racing against the clock. I managed to pull it off. As I always do. The blessing of being ambitious and a chronic overachiever. But these qualities are not without a curse. I truly am dressed to kill. And have nowhere to go.