Gypsy's Soul
"Drifter... that's what they call me. Well, that is one of the nicer things they call me," Ezra smirked. "Conman, grifter, liar, cheat, ne'er-do-well." He cocked a sardonic eyebrow. "And it's true. My feet are getting itchy, as Vin would say. Thirty days was what the judge said. Just thirty days and I had my pardon. It's been a year and I haven't stayed this long in one place since I was five. I promised you I wouldn't run out on you. But now I am asking you to let me go Chris."
Chris stared into the gambler's green eyes. Ezra graced him with that damn lazy grin, his gold tooth glinting in the lamplight. He shuffled his cards, his hands never still. After a year Chris would forever associate the soft sound of the pasteboards and a honeyed drawl with his friend. He cleared his throat. "You gonna come back or do you mean forever?" For a brief second he saw the stunned amazement before the shutters slammed shut.
Ezra sat back in his chair and studied the gunslinger. The question echoed in his ears. "Do you even want me back?"
Chris shot him an exasperated look. "That is a damn fool question Ezra."
