Maybe, just maybe, I can squeeze one of these in a day. It would be nice... If I can I will, and if I can't, well, don't act too disappointed. This is heavily inspired by the venerable Thom Glick, if you couldn't tell. I will make a slightly serious-er one for my cowboy story (which relates directly to my painting Cowboy Carrion), but until then, the story goes thusly:
Well now here’s a story. I can’t tell you it’s an entirely true story. Heaven knows, a man can think something he even seen with his own eyes into a lie. So I’m not here telling you it’s true. But it is a story. That’s true.
Sit down there, friend, that stone’s flat enough. An’ make sure you can see my eyes. Some say they’s the windows of the soul. Me, I say they sure are pretty. An’ they tell you if’n a man is dead as well as his heart does. But I never seen a ghost floating around in there. Seeing your eyes, though, makes it easy to tell if you are listenin’. So do well to look.
Anyhow, let me start by sayin’ there ain’t no way to properly start some things. Birth don’t seem the right way to start life. It as close to death, and with more blood. And some things just don’t start. The prairie was. Is. Will be, I reckon. Grass and trees and water and those damned buzzards is gonna outlast all the gold and the people and the oil put together. Benjamin, he never had a start neither. I reckon he was just dust at some point. Dust that, one day, decided to put hisself into a shape and walk into a saloon on the far side of nowhere. But he had an end. That much he had.