It's been my dream to always be a songwriter.
I've been dreaming of this since I was 10, and now I'm 25 I felt it was the right time to pursue my dream.
So I travelled to America, believing that's where my dream will come true.
After being here for 2 months and nothing is going right.
I'm alone, standing at the side of the road with a sign on cardboard saying "San Diego".
I'm wearing a pair of cut off denim shorts, a vest top, cowboy boots and only have a small bag.
My hair is blowing in the wind, and you notice that my eyes are red from crying.
I'm surprised as you drive past and suddenly stop.
You open your window and call out to me. It's so windy I can't hear you, so I run up to your window and you notice I'm not wearing a bra and my breasts move up and down.
I look up at you and smile, you look down at me and ask if I'd like a lift.
I nod and you motion for me to get into the passenger seat.
I open the door and climb in, you see that I have a golden tan on my slender legs.
"Are you sure you don't mind giving me a lift?" You suddenly realise my English accent.
"No, not at all.