“Bimbo! I’ll show you, Bimbo! Shrimp dick!” Linda shrieked as she fiercely beat up on Martin’s shoulders for a few moments.“Shrimp dick! I didn’t hear you complaining the other night!” Martin groused as he tried pinching Linda’s butt.“Oh? And where’s your preferred pick-up spot, Bro? The nearest old age home? The Alzheimer’s treatment center? No wait, that’s where your dates go hoping to catch it so that they can forget about you,” I said, retaliating for his earlier remarks.I was glad to see that at least Martin didn’t seem upset with me over not contacting him after I had gotten out of the hospital.“Nah, Bro. I usually pick up my girls at Dirty Peter’s Bar. That place is the best; they have liquor in the front and poker in the rear. It’s right on the corner of Banger and Leaver. You can’t miss it. It has a huge pile of broken hearts lying on the curb,” he said as he laughed hard at his own joke.“Come, let’s go in. Josh and Kim are here already and are probably wondering if I. I was a happy cowboy. I’d gotten a ride and I could just bet he was going to Pueblo, too. “Howdy, cowboy!” He said with the closed-mouth smile you tend to see from cowboys who chew tobacco and eschew dentists. “Going Rodeo-in’?” “Yes-siree,” I responded cheerfully, trying to assess this guy. Some thing told me that something wasn’t right. What was that thing? It was like when you walk into a room decorated early American and there sits an IKEA piece. He had the Tony Lama’s—snakeskin, very expensive. The cowboy cut jeans looked like they may have logged some hours in the saddle, but he was wearing a long brushed-cotton shirt that looked like it might have a different sort of man on a horse over the left breast. I couldn’t see from the passenger seat. Colorado was full of proverbial Coca-Cola Cowboys. You know the original dudes. The closest they get to bullshit is a bunch of guys sitting around trading stories. So there we were two dudes in drag heading for Pueblo. Another.
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