Small Talk
“Does it get packed in here?”
“Sometimes, you gotta just wait till the sunsets. Everyone in the town is here. It’s a hoot.”
I could really see the excitement in his drab voice. Well, he must be in business somehow. I gotta just take his word for it. Can’t assume things off an empty saloon, maybe it tells stories that I couldn’t have even imagined.
“So, did you come in here for a drink?”
“Oh, no sir. I just want to know if you’ve seen this dog.”
I show him the crumpled up photo, he eyes it for a moment, and I get the opportunity to stare at his appearance.
He keeps a clean vest on him, a gingham tie, and the only thing torn up are the cuffs of his collared shirt. It was a shirt that must have been loved for years and still continues to remain close. His appearance had no match to his voice, yet I shouldn’t be surprised. This town has no match to my own standards.
“No, you carrying that photo everywhere with you? How long?”
“Eight months.”
“I’ve been searching all over California, I’ve just started to make my way south.”
“Your photo is all worn out. If it’s that important to you, why do you keep letting it get messed up?”