Tuesday, 16 June 2015

25 Hours From Tulsa

I probably should have kept track of the names of the towns I was riding through, but given I’d been riding bareback for a full day, I didn’t care what they called this place, it had a hitching post for the horse, a saloon for me.

No-one gave me a second glance as I walked in and headed for the bar. A gal was serving, but I didn’t care by that point.

“Got a room?”

“Sure Mister, if you got the Tin.”

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the handcuffs.

Guess I didn’t ride far enough.

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