Cowboys Talkin’ at the Mall

“You know you’ve been going to the same coffee shop for too long when everyone there knows more about you than you know about yourself. “

A moth fluttered about the neon sign buzzing in the front window of a small town café/convenience store/gas station locally known as “the mall.” It was still dark outside. An assortment of ranchers, oilfield workers, cowboys and bronc stompers sat around at the tables and in the booths inside. A man wearing creased Levis, a pressed khaki shirt, and a sweat stained Stetson shuffled in through the door, and eased into one of the chairs. It was 6:30 in the morning.
“How you doing Buddy?” croaked the rancher across the table from him.”That old hip giving you trouble again? ”
“Yeah, maybe it’s a sign that it’ll rain – though I doubt it. ”
“Reckon that colt throwing you’s got anything to do with it? ”
“More likely it’s that 1940 on my driver’s license! ”
“Maybe some of this here black poison will help, that and a handful of ibuprofen. ”
“Yep, say Jim, you got anything to do this morning?”
“No, not particularly,why?”
“Reckon you could get a’horseback and help me pen some heifers? ”
“Well,Buddy, it’s like this here; if I get the urge to do something, I resist it as long as I can; then I go take a nap! “

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