|Breakfast at Tiffany's
When that fresh-faced guy in a Chevy offered her a lift, Parker told him to go to hell. But when she did it, the way she did it, it was like a sweet, maple-syrup-thick cocktail of mind numbing narcotics, oozing around the poor chump's blood-starved brain, dulling his feeble thought processes and anesthetizing her intended point of entry until she could stick that stiletto in to the hilt. He wouldn't feel a thing until that warm red wave washed over everything.
She was the ingénue from Hell. Holly Golightly with a hot rod Telecaster(TM) and a large caliber, snub-nose revolver. A not-so-simple, not-so-innocent, country girl doing a very convincing job of swimming with the sharks in the big city.
77 El Deora