"You have to consider, if you can, how we got here."
The diner was empty, but for two men sitting in a booth. The jukebox played a lonely dirge: speakers warbling from the loose wires within. An old dame, lamenting an old world spoken of by the sun-faded posters that mouldered on peeling walls. There were no windows left, not anymore. Her tinny voice passed freely through to the whistling mountain air, lost to the wind. Creeping ivy scoured the walls, tugging great veins of plasterwork where it has been crudely stripped away.
As hideouts went it was a sorry place. Stray bottles line the counter top. Pop mostly. More than a few bottles of liquor, some filled with stale urine. More than some.
Any caps have long since been plucked clean.
Ellis was not a handsome man. His nose was broken, his beard patchy and skin flaky. Genetics had not been kind to him, and the years even less so. Heavy bags underscored rheumy eyes, that winced through curling smoke.
The listener sat across from him, listening without comment.
Ellis took another drag of his cigarette, hand quivering with a palsied shake.
"They were different times. No government then. No working roads, or bridges." A sucking drag. "Just the frontier. Caravans and outlaws. Raiders and victims. Might made right. Chaos man."
He stubbed the cigarette out on the table, giving a rueful shake of his head.
"Chaos."
There was a pistol set on the table between them. It was a heavy six shooter; worn, but lovingly kept. The grip was custom-made; cushioned leather wrinkled with age. The trigger guard has been remade, rendered in polished chrome. The barrel was stamped in an NCR press, but any engraving to that effect had been filed away with meticulous intent.
The barrel was not pointed at Ellis. But it wasn't pointed away either.
The revolver was many things. Above all, it was a reminder. Of the dynamic between them: the speaker, and the listener. Of how the conversation started.
Of how, quite probably, it would end.
Ellis ignored it as he leant back in the booth, huffing dragon's breath and scratching his cheek. His eyes were lost in memory.
"Unless you were there, you wouldn't understand."
The listener gently rested a hand on the revolver. A filtered voice growled.
"Tell me."