Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Into the subtext

"Never thought of that did you?" he stared me in the eye as the words drawled from his southern tongue.

I looked at the man before me, unshaken by the abuse he's suffered - scars on his face, a broken jaw, quivering hands, and a bad case of dandruff.

If he were off the horse I'd have taken him for a desert bush.

But there he was, mouthing off to me about some abstract alternative that I was gone supposed to have known before I got myself in this here mess.

I tried to look collected as I delivered the retort.

"No, stranger. Can't say that I have."

There was no expression on his ugly mug when he tugged on the reins of his horse and turned his tattered denim jacket back on me.

And off he rode, with me wondering if I had something better to say when I see him again.

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