he’ll probably always hang around New Mexico, if you were to ever ask him. Silver City is another place he could live, but Santa Fe has its feeling of home, so he stays. It isn’t like he’ll ever go near Fort Sumner to see the gravestone that marks his last life. He’s a frequent at this bar, even if he just barely turned legal.
“— somethin’ I can help you with, sweetheart?”
A break from Kentucky was just what she needed. Ava wasn’t quite sure what gave her the bright idea to pack up few belongings and venture out west, but there was something romantic about it. Whether it was the need to envelop herself in freedom once inescapable steel, jaws of the law released her or from the heap of tornadoing shit Boyd had gotten himself into still remained a question to be answered. Finding her way into a quaint little saloon themed bar, fatigued leather cowboy boots scuffed glossed hardwood floors and she took residence in a vacant stool far off from what she surmised as the regular crowd. It wasn’t until the bartender spoke up that azure hues shifted in his direction.
“I think I might be lost,” she stated, backs of knuckles gravitating to settle beneath her chin. Eyes took in the young man’s facial features. There was something familiar about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, like she’d seen him lingering somewhere on the stoops of Harlan drinking whiskey with the other juvenile delinquents or in a newspaper for breaking and entering. “I’m doin’ some sight seein’, lookin’ for Fort Sumner but I ain’t got the slightest clue. Can’t remember if takin 285 to 40 is the quickest route, or 285 to 60.” Reaching into handbag, she dug out a map of the area and sprawled the pamphlet over slick, cherry bartop.
“– And I’ll take a Jim and coke, thank you honey.”
