Six Shooters & Sex
It’s a shame you’re not a fan of westerns because this
has all the makings of a good one: a woman alone,
her husband prospecting in New Mexico, the sudden return
of the fork-tongued old lover. She and that smooth
talker laze in her marital bed, smoking, blowing
rings that waft out the window and carry like beacons
across the dusty plain. (And the worst part is that even
the husband’s dog has been untrue.) In a western,
all of this would make for a hanging: I’d be strung up by your
man and some rowdy boys from the local saloon. Or if I wasn’t
done in by the limb and rope, maybe a shot of lead in the gut.
Then again, I could be the one quick on the draw…
Too bad this life isn’t a movie: we’d solve this fast,
but as it is our betrayals are just minor offenses we wallow in.
