There was something about his swollen knuckles, scarred hands, and rusted voice that made me listen.
As he held my arm, the grey-faced stranger spoke, “Don’t. I fought a man for woman, once. You don’t understand. Don’t draw that gun. Don’t say those words writ large on yer eyes, son.”
I finished my whiskey and slid through the door. The golden light behind sent my shadow coursing ahead. Stars shimmered in the distant black. Cold winds caressed my shoulders. I lit a cigarette and walked away.