Blogathon 2006: Chapter 2.
written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post
In front of the saloon was a flashy bay, tossing its head about like it had eaten nothing but oats its entire life. That was all that was flashy about the scene as far as Dove could see. The saloon looked weary, the wood that fleshed it out sagging and gray.
This was no Silverado, made very clear by the saloon.
You could tell a town by its saloon. This was one of few truths Dove held to. The saloon was where the people were people. The church always seemed to be on the edge of town, upwind from the whiskey and swearing, reserved for unholstered and sober moments when the open-rangers exchanged only glares with the sodbusters instead of lead.
This saloon looked rough, like the town, like Dove. He figured he'd find trouble inside, but it was better to go in and do it now than waiting around for it to mosey on up and tap him on the shoulder. He pushed open the slatted, swinging doors and stepped inside.
Labels: blogathon
Copyright (c) Julie R. Neidlinger 7/29/2006 09:31:00 AM
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1 Comments:
Oh, I do hope Bob gets falling-down drunk, but still manages to take out a bad guy with his six-shooter. Or should it be the other way around? Take out the bad guy, and then hoist a few?
There's nothing funnier than a drunken plastic doll. (I'm getting flashbacks of depressed Bob in his writer's loft, last year.)
-- Corrine
By 
, at
29/7/06 10:03
