Cowboys Can Be So Cruel

Cowboy Bill, pawn shop security, was immediately suspicious, signaling with his eyes that the shaggy haired hippie staring at the handguns was fucking crazy. I looked at Shaggy's happy face ankle tattoo, Birkenstocks, and blissed out expression, and decided his inevitable craziness was probably drug induced. Mr. and Mrs. Fox stared at him, sizing him up.

"Can I help you," Bill asked, hitching up his pants and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, rocking back on his boot heels, his authority pose.

"No thanks," Shaggy answered in a breathy, high-pitched voice, "I'm just looking."


Bill stared at him, and Shaggy continued to look at the guns from a distance and fidget in his skin. An air of tension built while we all waited for the crazy shoe to fall.

Hoping to avoid the craziness, I announced to no one in particular, "I am going outside to smoke."

Shaggy darted between me and the door, beating me outside.

"I'm gonna...get a...gun," he says when the door closes behind us, "I gotta...get...the right one...can't be too big...or otherwise..." He trails off, fixated on the Marlboro between my fingers. "Could I...uh...get a drag off your cigarette?"


"No, you cannot. But I will get you your own cigarette." I rested my smoke on the windowsill and went back inside to get him one. "Bill, that sumbitch has no concept of appropriate behavior. He just asked me if he could have a drag off my cigarette."

"He asked you what," Mrs. Fox shouted, outraged at the idea.

"I knew that poor bastard was crazy," said Cowboy Bill. "He just looks funny."

I walked outside and handed Shaggy a cigarette, disappointed to realize that he planned to sit beside me on the bench while he smoked it.

"I...was born and raised...outside Houston...my grandma died...of lung cancer." He waved the cigarette with a lazy hand to emphasize the cancer. "My parents...they're dying...of lung cancer." He used the cigarette as a pointer, marking the medical oxygen clinic across the street. "...they're getting their tanks...refilled. Sposed ta quit this...just...smelled so good." He stared at the sun, puzzled during his pauses, looking for words in the sky.


"I can't say they smell good, that's why I plan to quit smoking on Monday."


"Right on...you can do it...I try to kill the craving...I eat tons of ice cream." He grabbed his belly in both hands, squeezed it and flopped it up and down. "I'm such a fatass."

I heard someone tapping on the window behind me, and turned to see Cowboy Bill on a step-ladder, tongue hanging out of his mouth, circling his finger around his ear in, the elementary school signal for crazy. Then, he pointed his finger at me, and laughed. Shaggy was not deterred.


"I try to eat as much ice cream as possible...to keep my...sanity...this is my first cigarette in awhile...WHOO! I am light headed."


"Alright," I said, "you have a good day. I'm going back to work."


I walked in the shop to a chorus of "you made a new friend" from Bill.


"Yeah that guy is definitely a weirdo, and now he'll probably be here every day." I looked out the window to see if he was still lurking outside and was surprised to see Shaggy's feet in the air, feebly kicking. "Is that sumbitch laying down in the parking lot?"


"Yes he is," said Mrs. Fox, "and he's right behind my car, blocking my exit."


"It appears that he is doing the bicycle," Mr. Fox added.


"Well, did he fall down, or do you think he just likes rolling around on the ground?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm going to watch this," and Cowboy Bill went outside and leaned on the trunk of Mr. Fox's Toyota.


Shaggy rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled 15 feet to catch his wayward visor. Bill made no move to help, never even uncrossed his arms when Shaggy stumbled to his feet and wandered up the tree lined sidewalk. He just stood and watched long after the hippie had disappeared from my sight..


"What the hell happened," I asked when Bill came back inside.


"Poor stoned bastard wandered into the street and almost got hit by a truck. I thought, 'Oh shit, here comes the end for this nutjob,' but he wandered back onto the sidewalk at the last second. I was kinda disappointed."