The Riderless Horse
By H.D. Nels
I liked my spot in the bar. It had been mine practically since the place opened. Sure there were times when some poor soul would wander and plant his ass in my spot. Usually he would wither and scurry off under the scrutiny of my glare. Dakota just chuckled and figured I’d take the misguided soul home and have my wicked way with him.
One early spring evening I stopped in after my shift rotation and parked myself on my usual perch. Dakota brought over my brew of choice and absently placed it in front of me. No greeting or fanfare, no hey handsome, good to see you. He treated me as if I was just another customer. It took while and a couple of shots of Sambuca—for Dakota, not me—before he finally opened up. He told me how The Cuir prided itself on involveme
