You can purchase “Hung Up” in the “Under This Cowboy’s Hat” anthology at Torquere Press.

He’d arrived in town just shy of a thunderstorm. Even when he pulled his pick-up into the parking lot of the bar, several hours later, the air still smelled clean, ozone chasing the heat away at least until the morning. The quarter moon was just a hazy glow behind fragmented cloud, and he knew the bar wasn’t busy when he could actually hear his boots crunch the gravel as he crossed the parking lot.

For a guy that made no bones of his belief that routine was a terminal condition, Billy had fallen into this particular habit without even realizing. He’d hit the road around noon, just so that he could blast along the highways to make up for lost time. He’d find the venue, take care of any outstanding business and hang around just long enough get a feel for the place.

Then he’d find a good bar.

It was a good habit to cultivate, though, so he’d forgiven himself and amended his views to exclude any routine that furthered his career or helped him get laid. And not necessarily in that order. The latter was always a difficult proposition, but if he was patient, if he was careful -- two things that rarely came easy when he didn’t have a saddle under him – more often than not he found what he was looking for.

The bar was quieter than he hoped. It had looked so much more promising when he drove by earlier that afternoon, the parking lot teeming, and music so loud he could hear Chris LeDoux blasting above the distant thunder with the window rolled down.

Then again, he might have driven past a completely different bar…

A couple of old cowboys propped up one end of the bar, as though they’d taken root years ago. They were watching last week’s ball game on a small TV in the corner, in between trading jokes with the bartender. He took a seat at the other end of the bar, and, as soon as the bartender acknowledged his presence, ordered a beer.

“In town for the rodeo?” The bartender eyed him as he set the bottle of Bud in front of him.

“Yeah.” He looked around hopefully, wishing for any sign of life, any inkling that he was just early, and that this place turned into a deviant little hellcat after nine. Nothing he saw reassured him much, so he relented and asked, “Is it always this quiet?”

The cowboys sent him a look, but the bartender chuckled. “It’ll pick up over the weekend, but for now…” He inclined his head, indicating the old guys and the TV. “Welcome to the social whirl, kid.”

“Yeah…” He tipped the bottle in mock salute, holding the smile until the bartender turned back to the old guys. Catching his reflection in the mirror behind the beer-glass rack, he sent himself a deadpan look. “Thanks.”