A drifter brushed dust from his chaps and squinted at the line of Mexican tile over the cantina door. “This’ll do.” He strode through the doorway as an antique piano played. He noticed photos of Pat Garrett and Billy. “Damn you, Billy.” The drifter left, thirst unquenched.
Crystal was dreaming of a place where her skills would be valued. Cloaked in white, she glided down a narrow trail in to a misty world of wishful thinking.
|This photo comes Dawn at See*Photo*Write|