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Miss. Opal was not like the other girls. She was different, strange, almost other-worldly. She never fit in. But that didn't really matter, she didn't want to fit in. The other girls would do whatever it takes to get a client, not Opal. She just sat back, eternally cool, smoking a cigarette and drinking from the flask she kept in her garter. Left leg. Yes, she sat back, watching and waiting. Cold, icy cold, her coldness worked like magic on men like Cactus Jim. Big bloated men, puffed up on their own ego and the lies it fed their minds. Cactus Jim was a legend, a hero, a singing cowboy, a minstrel man, a wanderer, a dreamer, an expert at f*****g.
Did his legend exist solely in his mind? Or, was it real? The crowd sure seemed to treat him like a legend...but Opal? She didn't give a flyi
