In the pulsating core of San Salvador, the Gatita Serpas reign supreme, their feline grace and insatiable hunger for flesh drawing men like moths to a flame. Whores of the center, they prowl La Avenida, their heels clicking a seductive rhythm on the pavement. The scent of their arousal mingles with the exhaust fumes, a heady perfume that promises forbidden pleasures. These are not mere women; they are sirens, and they sing their siren song to the eager ears of the men who dare to listen.