Chuck Norris died and I was feeling creative or something.
______________
A dusty bar in Texas. A man among men sits at the bar, disappointed in the strength of the alcohol he is drinking. He takes another sip and wipes his ginger beard.
Slowly, a cloaked figure approaches from behind.
"Again?" says the bearded man. "How many times must we do this?"
"Just hear me out," says the cloaked figure, easing onto the stool beside him.
The cloaked figure is alone. Unarmed. Cautious.
With a bony hand, he slides a document across the bar. The man reads it slowly.
"Peace," he says. Not a question.
A long silence settles between them.
He slides the paper back and looks to the bartender. "Ranger Creek for me and my friend here.”
The cloaked figure waves his bony hand. "No, thank you. I'll just have a Shirley Temple."
The man drinks, slower this time. When the glass is empty, he sets it down gently.
No rush now.
He stands, steady as ever, and looks at the cloaked figure.
"Alright," he says. Not surrender. Not defeat.
A decision.
"Let's go."
.png)
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment