Many times I’ve returned. Never was I the same in any of my guises. I feel inside, my times before, with no memories of each journey. My soul’s shadows haunt all the paths it has traveled.
Will this path be my last?
Sally uttered, then wink’d while crinkl’n a smile and died like a burp in church.
I’ve known Sally a long time. Longer than anyone, I be guess’n. Shame she blink’d out like that on top of a wine barrel in her own saloon.
Regret’n ain’t one of my strong suits. But, when it came to Sally, I have two.
Sally grew up in her daddy’s saloon. She took it over when her daddy died in the WWII. From what she said, he died at the hands of an enemy of his cook’n abilities.
All Sally said was that he pour’d a mean drink that would vibrate your public hairs off, but he couldn’t cook a hot dog if’n he was standing in the middle of Zozobra burn’n to the ground.
Think she told me that in 1950. Probably the Korean War made her think of telling me. Then again, it don’t matter. She done told me about him anyway.
I always felt comfy in her saloon. Had a style of the old times when wagon ruts crossed in front of the place. Not like now with the cobblestones cover’n the ground. Used to be you could hang on a doosie and fall on the ground without get’n hurt.
Lot of friends have lost their two big front chompers in front of Sally’s since she put them down long before the Hippies brought enlightenment to Whiz Bang.
Sally had a dog. My cat, Kiva and the dog didn’t get along at all. Dog’s name was Ol’ Scratch. Most evil inbred dog I ever laid eyes on. Which was a whole lot safer than lay’n my hands on his cursed coat. Nasty, vile critter with a limp and split tail.
Every other village dog play with sticks and cans. Ol’ Scratch fetch’d logs and ate aluminum beer barrels for fun and frolic. Ask Stumpy Chavez, he’ll tell you everything further about Ol’ Scratch you need to know.
Sally could be more vicious, though. Guess that was why they come together. My think’n was Ol’ Scratch want’d to learn a few new tricks for his bag and figure’d Sally would be an easy mark.
Ol’ Scatch had his teeth and temper. Sally had a coach gun and a temper that was slow; cold as stone in winter. Yep. She was faster than a ratter when her temper come to the open.
Sally and I tangled only once. T’was a draw, that became a life-long friendship.
Tell you why I hated Ol’ Scatch. That cur wouldn’t let me outta the outhouse until sunrise back in 1971. Always pee’d in the open behind the saloon after that little incident.
Sally is gone.
Yep. Two regrets, other than she won the bet on which of us would push daisies first.
First, I didn’t tell her I knew ‘bout her get’n plasted back in 1952 and order’n a thousand barrels of pretzels. The ones she still set out on the bar until she croaked.
That would’a frost’d her cookies know’n I knew!
Second regret is the biggest. Never ask’d for her last name.
Then again, I’m think’n, that is a tribute to our friendship and I miss her eye-patched face more with each tick o’ the clock.