A young woman. A perfect silhouette. She crosses the scarred earth on blistered feet, her ragged clothes flapping in the gentle breeze. She follows the noise from a distant doorway, cold, looming in the darkness ahead. The sound draws her in a way she has never felt, as if she is being pulled into it. The melody grows louder and more distinct, perfect harmonies, banshee-like voices. She finds herself at the large iron door, pulls the latch and swings the door wide open. Bliss. Behold: The Hoochy Girls.
