The Gunslinger

In a western town, in a dead end world, way before the Pet Shop Boys ever existed, there stood a lone saloon.

In a lone town.

With a lone gunslinger at the bar.

And about half a dozen other patrons milling around or sitting at tables playing poker…or that game where you spread your fingers apart and stab a knife between them going faster and faster, until you either slam the knife into the table in triumph, or cut a finger off.

I don’t know why the saloon owners allowed this game because it makes little indentations in the tables. Enough indentations and your beer glass could be all wobbly when you set it down. But you could put a pretzel in the indentations and have your friend hold his fingers up like a goal post, and then you flick the pretzel through it, trying to make a field goal…expect football hasn’t been invented yet…so nobody does that.

Oh yeah, there is one of those old timey piano players as well. He currently is not playing the piano, he is just sitting and looking at the piano. To be honest, he doesn’t know how to play the piano. He lied when he applied for the job. I’m not sure what he was thinking, because at some point he is going to be expected to play the piano. The non-pianist  is currently contemplating slamming his hands in the piano’s key cover, thus crippling him, making it impossible to play. This might buy him some more  time and he might be able to keep his new job as a bar’s piano player a bit longer.

There is also one of those girls wearing sexy revealing clothing and a feather boa walking around, although by today’s standards, they are not very revealing. I never understood the appeal of the boa as a sexy thing anyway. It just looks like a shedding feathered snake wrapped around somebody’s neck. I think it’s just to give the girl something to do with her hands, or to hide some unsightly blemish from your neck. Some people think snakes are sexy around a girl’s neck, and a feathered boa would not bite your face off like a snake would. The worst thing a feathered boa would do is either tickle you slightly or maybe give you a bad rash if you would allergic to feathers. If you were allergic to feathers, maybe you could request a camel hair or yarn boa…although they might not be as sexy. The camel hair may be kind of stinky as well.

Back to the lone gunslinger at the bar….

The gunslinger had been at the bar for hours, head down, nursing a beer, when suddenly he swivels around on his bar stool, but not very well because the bar stools are in serious need of WD40. WD40 hasn’t been invented yet, so the bar keep doesn’t quite know how to fix this problem. He was thinking maybe some olive oil or pickle juice, but then again tends to forget the problem even existed with the bar stools…until someone tries to swivel around in them very dramatically. This usually results instead half loosing your balance and looking like a drunk clown instead. The bar keep was more concerned with finding a way to repair all the knife nicks in his tables. His wife kept telling him to a sign up that simply said, “No Knife Finger Gaming In The Bar Please.” But, of course he hadn’t done it yet.

The gunslinger grabs his pistols and shoots them straight above his head. The bar comes to a complete silent stand still. The bar keep looks at the ceiling, staring at the two bullet point holes and wonders if his insurance covers this, except insurance hasn’t been invented, so really he is wondering how he is going to climb up there and plug those two holes up before the next rain. He can envision the sign his wife is going to suggest for him next about not shooting your bullets into the ceiling.

Everyone looks at the gunslinger. The piano player is the most grateful however, because this will buy him some more stalling time before he has to crush his hands with the key cover.

The gunslinger looks around the room and spits out his half smoked cigar. This very cigar was hand rolled by Mexican children and sold at an incredible profit to the manufacture while the children made pennies. Barely enough to buy one taco shell, but they sure did taste good.

The gunslinger cleared his throat.

The gunslinger wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

And then he spoke,

“Does anyone have a nickel I can borrow? I have enough money for my beer, but not enough for the tip.”

The room was dead silent still, but now everyone looked at each other confused.

Until old man Jeb stood up. Now old man Jeb wasn’t that old compared to today’s standards. He was only like 38 or 39, but back then life expectancy was a lot shorter.

Old man Jeb spit on the floor and said,

“Here is a dime stranger. Give five to the bar keep and five to the piano player, and request a song in my honor.”

And that’s when the piano player started to repeatedly slam his hands with the piano key cover.

I guess this story is more about the piano player then the gunslinger.