Cowgirl

“Gimme another.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

The barkeep went down to the far end of the counter and reached down, grabbing another beer from the cooler. He grabbed the top and twisted it off in a single motion. Putting it on a fresh drink coaster, he slid it down the bar. I stuck my hand down and the beer landed right in my hand with a solid thud. I took a swig and gave him a thumbs up as my thanks, him tipping the edge of his hat back at me.

This beer was much colder than the other; the first sip had just a tiny amount of slushy beer at the top, but I didn’t mind one bit. The outside of the bottle was building up condensation from the hot air outside, wetness lathering up the palm of my hand. It was a refreshing bottle, and I knew I had more like this just waiting for me back there.

I rubbed the bottle against my forehead for a moment, letting some of the water droplets drip down my face, “Christ, today’s a bad day to be all dressed up. I really need to change it up more often.”

As I went for another sip, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror of the bar shelf. The front bang of my hair was a shaken mess, random strands sticking out in random directions. The only solid hairstyle visible on me was the tightly pulled-back ponytail that gently brushed the nape of my neck. The top three buttons of my dress shirt was undone, letting just a little breeze blow down my chest. The reflection of the bar counter cut off the lower half of me, but I could feel my dark brown dress pants tightening around my crossed legs.

As I was watching myself in the mirror, I noticed a blue streak smudged on my lips. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my small foldable mirror, popping it open to get a closer look. In the smaller reflection was a clear picture of my blue-coated lips. The bottom lip was smeared a bit, rubbing off near the corner of my mouth. Placing the mirror on the counter, I went back into my pocket and pulled out my small lipstick, the container disguised as a rifle bullet. With a little twist on the bottom, a blue stick came up and I began redoing my face.

I glanced over at my beer bottle, noticing a blue ring around the top of it, “This brand sucks, water-resistant my ass.”

In the background I heard the heavy slams of the double doors to the saloon flying open, followed by a steady pace of footsteps. I simply ignored it, bringing up my mirror to get a better look at my lips. Behind the close-up of my face, I saw a man walking towards me. I couldn’t get a good measure of his height, but from the looks of it, he was at least matching my five-foot eight, maybe two inches more. The top of his head was extra shiny, a blinding bald spot that actually hurt to look at even through a reflection. The bottom of his stomach reached out beneath his own dress shirt, which was barely hanging on by the last button.

What a fat ass. There’s no way he’s a Gunner.

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