• The Stranger immediately didn't like the way that Billy One Eye looked at him with those eyes.

    The Stranger didn't like to call the attention of anybody, but the fact that he didn't really say much didn't help. He couldn't really blame just that; he had a knack of going to troublesome places where he got into troublesome situations. This has been happening ever since he decided to go out on his quest. It was a sign telling him to go back home.

    It has been two years of signs that it feels like he's more like a moth going to what he knows is a flame. More than a knack it was actually a habit.

    It's okay, thought the Stranger, it helps keep me sharp.
    Just remember, you can still die at any time, said a voice deeper within his mind.

    Same for everyone else, he replies.

    The Stranger was so used to getting out of sticky situations that he unconsciously sat as close as possible to windows. When someone says to "cover all the exits," they mean all the doors; no one really thinks of the windows at that time. And by "they" he means all the shitbag leaders of all the shittierbagged gangs he's had to deal with throughout the years.

    Billy One Eyes was settling business somewhere else, probably bullying the Sheriff into leaving him and his gang alone for the night or nights they stayed here, while his goons went ahead and started the party up in the saloon. They probably came in and beat the s**t out of any a** that didn't move out of the way immediately out of their tables. By the time the Stranger arrived, they had already taken the whole East side of the building, and it wasn't the most serene of places.

    As the Stranger approached the building the gunshots of shotguns and pistols only got louder.

    The Stranger got off his horse and started to tie it up to the post, and at that moment a prostitute flew out through a front window. "That'll teach you to say 'no, thank you' to me, b***h!" a voice called after her.

    ******** are crazy, the Stranger thought, gotta be careful. He walked in through the entrance farthest away from the One Eye gang and avoided all eye contact with anybody, another survival instinct he had developed over the years. He just looked on straight to the table at the corner, right under a window and edging the bar. Cover and escape routes didn't really get any better than this; even if the bar was taken he had the window or if the window was blocked, for some reason, he had the hardwood counter for cover, which led straight to the exit he came in through.

    Nobody, in any other state sat all the way in the back corner of any bar, at least not for the same reasons that the Stranger did. As soon as he set down on the corner One Eye shitbags instinctively looked over at him. Right on cue, thought the Stranger. After a minute or so of starting and murmuring, the gang looked away and settled back to whatever it was they were doing before.

    All those eyes looking at him would've made him uneasy two years ago, when nobody had ever heard of a scarf-wearing cowboy so as to not see his face. The first time it happened it had been more north in Texas, where he used to live, when he initially set out on his quest. He had gone into a small bar and, as soon as he saw everybody turn towards his direction, he walked out at that same moment. Now, he would feel uneasy if nobody turned in his direction.

    A young, blonde waitress approached him, "Can I get you anything?"
    "A shot of tequila, please," The Stranger said in the lowest, deepest, and quietest voice he could as to disguise his young voice, but he always seemed to fail at it, like right now. He was looking around, avoiding to even glimpse at the waitress, but he could still feel her awkward stare. Not only would it be embarrassing if she asked him for his age, but also dangerous, with so many shitbags listening. They'd try to bully him, and he would have to kill them.

    The waitress looked away and headed to the bar to place the order with the bartender. The Stranger could just give a little sigh, being grateful to the waitress for either not noticing or not calling him out. As far as he was concerned, that could've been the end of him, and he was nervous and sweating, despite acting brave to himself just a few minutes earlier.

    The Stranger took another look around, this time actually paying attention to the environment. The One Eye gang was still in control of the whole east side of the building, talking obscenities, laughing at those obscenities, and moving on to another obscenity. They were holding two waitresses there, one brunette and the other a redhead. the redhead was just standing next to a fat shitbag, who she was trying dto get away from but was being held at the arm, and the brunette was also trying to get away and kept being sat down on another by another fat shitbag on his lap every time she actually managed to get up.

    Along with the waitresses were equally unenthusiastic prostitutes who were trying to flirt with them, but it seemed they were too busy counting and recounting their obscenities. When they did pay attention to the prostitutes it was just to say something stupid or slap them on the a**.

    The other customers tried to have a normal conversation, but they were trying to speak as low as possible so as to not disturb the gang, often giving them a nervous look at them which was probably just as dangerous.

    Molly the prostitute got closer to Cherrie the whore and whispered in her ear, "What is up with these guys? Do they want to ******** or what?"

    "Maybe with each other," replied Cherrie.

    Molly smiled. "I can't approach other customers because I'm afraid these assholes might get mad and shoot me on the spot if I leave."

    "If you were to get away they wouldn't shoot you, they'd shoot the poor b*****d you decided to approach."

    "True," agreed Molly.

    Over at the bar the blonde waitress that had attended the Stranger was waiting for the shot of tequila. "Why are you taking so long, Pablo?"

    "I'm just getting ready with beers in case those idiots get thirsty again," replied the bartender.

    "Don't tell me you're afraid."

    "I'm afraid they might shoot me."

    "Just keep up the good work and nothing'll happen."

    "Don't pressure me more, Abby. Everything pisses off these guys."

    "Just get me that tequila so I can service this guy so I can service all the rest of the customers."

    "Who the guy with the really big bandanna?"

    "I think it's a scarf, actually."

    "A scarf? Like the ones you wear on winter? He does know we're in south Texas right? In the middle of summer."

    "He probably has an ugly face or something. Just don't keep him waiting and piss him off.

    He might shoot you."

    "Nah, he looks shady, but not really scary or murderer-looking."

    "Might be a bandit. He doesn't want his face to be recognized."

    "Or maybe a mine worker with some kind of bad burn." Pablo took out a whole bottle of tequila and a shot glass. "Take him this. We'll just charge him on how much he didn't drink."

    "But he only asked for one drink"

    "Trust be, nobody comes in here for just one drink."

    "I don't think he's a heavy drinker; he sounded like he's young."

    "Did you ask him his age?"

    "And make him a target for those guys? No."

    "If he's a bandit it means he drinks and has stolen money. Now go. I thought you said you were in a hurry."

    Abby grabbed the bottle of tequila. “Okay, then…”

    “Hey!” one of the gang members called out, “f*****t, serve us some more beers. And make sure that blonde b***h is the one to give ‘em to us.” Abby gave them a dirty look. “Yes, babe, you with the tits.” The brunette the gang member was holding tried to get up but he grabbed her tight at the waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

    “I’m going to get the beers,” replied the brunette waitress.

    “I said she’s going to bring it to us, not you.”

    “She’s already busy with the other customers, you know?”

    “I don’t give a ******** about all these other faggots. Of course I know there are other people here. Are you saying I’m stupid?”


    “Then? Fine! You wanna get our drinks? Go get them!” The shitbag let go of the poor waitress and, using his foot, pushed the waitress really hard and sent her flying onto another table, the drinks and glasses flying everywhere.

    “What the hell!?” said one of the guys sitting at the table.

    “What?” said the shitbag. “Something you didn't like?”

    The customer remained quiet and looked away. Abby left the shot glass and bottle of tequila at the Stranger’s table and rushed to help her co-worker, who was just about ready to start crying. “Don’t give in to these assholes,” said Abby quietly.

    “Hey, you,” the shitbag said to the redhead that was with the other shitbag, “you too, help her bring those beers.” The gang member holding the redhead dismissed her the same way the other one had dismissed the brunette, making her fall to the floor and scraping her knee. “And you better hurry! We’re already impatient, you don’t want to see us angry.”

    Both waitresses hurried to the bar to grab the beers. Abby also went back to the bar with them. "Why can't anybody just come and take care of these assholes?"