by Kayla Miller
When John Wayne pulls into Las Vegas in his dirty Honda Civic, the passenger seat bulldog snorts in her sleep. This ain’t new: new towns, new folks, strangers in strange cities, none of this is novel to the cowboy. The lights are different, sure, and the street names are never the same. Except when they are.
But for the most part, being a stranger is being a stranger, no matter where John Wayne situates himself. Crossin’ the country is something lovely, anyways, and not something he’d turn his nose up at. Imagine, reader: the things the cowboy’s seen. Outrunnin’ a tornado in Texas as big and black as deep water. Dust like sidewinding snakes dancing across the interstate’s yellow lines. A lightening storm outside St. Louis that makes the pupils shrink and illuminates the desert. John Wayne smiled for God’s photographic flash. He knows he can outrun tornados and lightening and St. Louis and Texas, even, so when God laughs, John Wayne does, too.
2 comments:
I love the cool title and the imagery of the "sidewinding snakes dancing." All of the imagery here is so vivid and has a real southwestern flavor to it. I only would have liked to see this story expanded a little more. I took the liberty of counting the words and noticed that you did have room for expansion. Otherwise, I like the writing style and bravo on the imagery!
Well this one was pretty fun. Nice throwback
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