Every man has women trouble, even Wyatt Earp did, and he had a gun and a cool moustache…
Perched 0ver the dirty, whiskey stained bar, Wyatt gained the attention of the old bar keep by chucking a bullet at the back of his bald head.
Wyatt twiddled his moustache and demanded a shot of black tequila, a dark brown drink 80% proof and 20% dirt.
He stared intently at the shot glass for a moment before raising it to his nose to reminisce over its familiar stench.
He sniffed slowly allowing its vapour in turn to singe his nostril hair, burn his throat and lungs before entering his ulcer ridden stomach, filling it with acid and producing a loud gurgling burp.
This was the closest he had come to drinking in 34 months but he knew that today would be the day he would drink; for outside the saloon awaited him the one fight he knew he couldn’t win.
Wyatt, the fastest draw this side of the equator, killer of 2000 men, a once feared bounty hunter and then a notorious law-man in Dodge City.
Wyatt knocked back the drink, took a deep breath and made way to the door.
The sun was bright as he entered the street and the dusty air from a passing carriage made it difficult to see.
As the dust cleared and the silhouette came into view, Wyatt for the first time in a long time felt fear, such fear that his hands trembled.
The sun reappeared from behind a passing cloud, shedding light onto the silhouette and exposing his wife’s angry face.
Wyatt faced the fact that he was just about to publicly have the shit kicked out of him by a woman.
Lying on the dusty road, his balls now resembling mashed potato, Wyatt wished he had paid attention to the several reminders his wife had given him to purchase an anniversary card.