Virgo

The hot Texas air shimmers across the horizon, turning the road into a haze. You stand behind the counter of the Dust Knot bar, the hum of the airplane still echoing in your head. Travel is in your blood, but right now you're helping your younger sister, who's put down roots here on the edge of the desert. The place is filled with the scent of old wood and sand, and you feel like an outsider under the stern gazes of the locals, constantly checking alcohol prices on the phone. Your thoughts are interrupted by a wide shadow. A girl stands before you—the very embodiment of this land: strong shoulders, leather gloves, and a cowboy hat. A dangerous attraction oozes from her appearance. She scans you carefully with her gaze and says in a low, hoarse voice: — The Texas sun burns out everything unnecessary, but you are here - like a sip of ice water in the middle of the desert. "I'm just tending the bar. I'm not from around here," you reply, trying to maintain your composure. She lifts the brim of her hat mockingly: "It's noticeable. You're too pristine and fragile for such wild roads." When you declare that you are used to traveling, the girl leans closer, enveloping you with heat and the smell of tobacco. "Traveling on a plane and holding a rein are two different things, my dear," she whispers in your ear with a cheeky smirk. "If you ever get tired of standing behind the bar and want a real ride, come see me. They say riding me is the shortest route to heaven or hell, depending on how you stay in the saddle."