Bandan-Clad Banditas…
They cross the southern border at dusk and kick up the desert sand as they cruise through the haciendas of our lives.
It’s the four horsewomen of the apocalypse and their bandoliers are filled with two gram joints and caked with the remains of all those that were vanquished on the way (but probably ketchup).
No worries, they pull out their bad ass bandanas and wipe off the filth and grit and ride for another 1,000 miles. That’s what Herbgals do. They roll joints and blow through town and leave behind a classic aroma of weed and estrogen. They let the wind blow through their Herbgals X Celia Lees Bandanas and they answer to no man.