The Tired Man

The paint was tired and looking for a fight by the time Bruce rode into Alvareza that afternoon. The town was quiet as he went up Main Street, sitting tight in the saddle and feeling the people on the sidewalks stopping and staring, their eyes boring holes into the back of his blue shirt. They would notice the dusty horse, the notched gun, the callous set of his shoulders. He never could figure out the uncanny way these small town folk could know a man for what he was at first glance. Across the street a man in a suit, […]


The beggar only sat on the corner of Baker and Delaney for one single day, but people never really stopped talking about it. Nobody exactly knew where he came from, which was rather strange, in a town as small as Ruthermere. He was just there one morning, huddled in an old grey blanket. He sat with his back against the northern fence of the old Delaney Public Park. He wore a grimy old army coat, and his hair was the colour of dirty suds, and the skin of his hands, neatly folded on his lap, was like some kind of […]