Part Three: Colorado – Dogs
She sits in a dark and greasy pub that doesn't have a sign on the front, an unopened pack of cigarettes on the bar in front of her. She drinks amoretto sours, one after the other after the other, and still feels as sober as the moment she walked in.
A dark and greasy man leers at her from two stools over. "Not from around here, are you," he yells over the country-western music and drunken conversation. He smells like beer and b.o. and one of those colognes that are normally featured in the locked cases at dime stores.
She shakes her head at him, answering only because she doesn't want to seem rude.
"Honey," the bartender mercifully interrupts their exchange. "He knows you ain't from around here." She smiles at Sara with vacant, bloodshot eyes. "That dog knows every female within a 50 mile radius of that bar stool." She gives the dark and greasy man a slow and satisfied grin. "You leave her alone, Hank. Go crawl up someone else's skirt tonight, honey."
Hank, the dark and greasy man, scowls at her and slides off the stool. He's on the prowl.
Sara takes another swallow of her drink and wonders if being christened Hank seals one's fate in the lyin'-cheatin'-dog category. She snorts at this possibility and taps her pack of cigarettes against the heel of her left hand.
The bartender with the bloodshot almond eyes reappears. "Need matches, Hon?"
Sara shakes her head and pulls a zippo out of her jacket pocket. She lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling through her nose, blowing smoke like a cartoon bull.
"You wanna tell me why you're here, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, all alone?"
Sara shrugs. "No reason, really."
The bartender nods like an old sage. "It's man trouble, ain't it, darlin'? I can always tell. Young, pretty girl like you, out here all alone. You're lookin' to find yourself, aren't you?" She crosses her arms and looks at Sara expectantly. Seeing no objection, she continues. "Honey, you ain't gonna find yourself here," she says matter-of-factly. "All you're gonna find here is a bunch of cheap jackalope plaques and some tacky T-shirts up the road at the Kum-N-Go." Her gaze is surprisingly level, considering her bloodshot eyes. "Whatever it is you're lookin' for is on the inside. Unless, of course, you're lookin' to have a one night stand with a cowboy who took twelve years to get an eighth grade education." She winks knowingly at her. "If that's what you're looking for, you came to the right place, little gal."
Sara shakes her head and smiles, slowly. She likes this woman, she decides. The lines on her face tell the story of a life filled with joys and disappointments, and she undoubtedly knows a thing or two about heartbreak.
Holding up her empty glass, Sara speaks. "Can I have another?"