The Dead River Inn

   I woke up with the sun beating through the thinly veiled, dirty window of the Dead River Inn, which is the finest hotel in Dead River.  My throat was dry and cracked from dehydration.  I walked to the window and pushed it open.  A dry, dusty breeze blew across my sweaty torso.  I was so sick of Dead River.

   I grabbed a glass of dusty water from the dresser and gulped it down.  It only intensified my thirst.  I walked back to the window and scanned the lonely street.  No one was out.  A couple of tumbleweeds rolled along the sidewalks; seemingly obeying the pedestrian laws of Dead River.  I couldn't remember how long I had been here or why I came in the first place.  I'm sure it had something to do with you, but most everything does.  Dead River wasn't the first nor would it be the last of soul sucking stops on this endless journey.

   I watched a desert crow fly down, lazily glide past my window, and perch atop the saloon roof.  I  watched as it searched the barren streets for something to scavenge.  The crow's eyes looked as empty as mine.  I drew inward and tried to remember the  last time we were together.  I tried to recall if we were happy then.  I tried to recall how you smelled and how you tasted on my lips.  Like a worn out picture, the memory was just too faded.  I wondered why I still woke up at night reaching for you, hoping to find you in the dark, and knowing you'll never be there again.

   I put on my clothes, grabbed my pistol, and headed out into the desert to start another endless search for you. 
Uploaded 11/13/2010
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