I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I used to have one friend but I had to shoot him. Talked too much.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, drifting silently across the prairies like a stinky fart that no one claims.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sober each morning, sober each night, pretty quiet in between, whispering only short observations to my pet sock puppet, Regina, also my main squeeze, who never complains neither.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, someone who used to have a name, now known only by my silences, and perhaps an occasional sneeze, or wheeze. (Recently tested allergic to wide open spaces.)
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, alone under the starry sky, solitary by day, ever wandering, ever wondering, counting and recounting my meager pocket change, never finding the price of admission to human society.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You may have seen me, but maybe you didn't. I seem to most only to be an indistinct blur, a missed movement, a pale shadow sliding sideways, perhaps carrying a sock puppet, my only remaining friend.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, and if you don't like that, well, I guess I'll need to keep drifting on quietly through the evening gloom.
Have anything to add? Then email sosayseff+snorp@gmail.com
Me? Just spent a bit of time howling. Feels good to get back in the saddle.
