I race into the dusty air, my saddle chafing sore, kicking my boots in gusto into the muscular loins of my stallion, Alfred. The hills are silhouette ghosts and I chase through the ravine like a man spooked by nature's wild appearance, when I should love her as she is and be stronger. The siren call of the saloon arises in my lonely chest and I yearn for the solace of alcohol and women. I chase the sunset like the vampire hunters of fiction. The crisp air smarts against my naked fingers and I ride and ride and ride. I spy the homely glow of the town as sweat trickles from my brow. I arrive in tact and strap my huffing beast to the wooden struts above the trough. I keep my compact Gideon's bible over my heart for protection. I walk into the bar in total abandon and exhaustion and summon a wild turkey from the buoyant barkeep, but this night I only find trouble...
