Cletus sat at his usual table slamming whiskey shots. His complexion was flushed red across his cheeks and bulbous nose, framing deep set rheumy pig eyes. His normal surly demeanor was getting more foul by the minute; he was spoiling for a fight. The tables nearest him were empty of patrons, they had seen this way too many times.
A horse and rider slowly emerged from a billowing dust cloud at the end of town. They were absolutely covered in thick layers of dust. The horse, rider, apparel and tack were all the same dingy tannish shade of brown. The cowboy dismounted at front of the saloon. Clouds of dust kept coming off the man as he continued to ineffectually swat himself. Making sure that his horse could reach the water trough, Frank gratefully stepped into the saloon.
"Hey barkeep! I'll take a whiskey!" said Frank as he moved slowly and stiffly toward the bar. Frank plunked a dust-covered coin on the bar and eagerly started to lift the drink to his overly parched lips. Abruptly, something crashed into his shoulder, spilling his highly prized drink. Frank shook his head in disgust to the accompaniment of many more motes. Frank's eyes angrily focused on the ugly face of Cletus; intense mutual hatred blossomed immediately.
"Hell, we don't serve your kind in here you filthy shit for brains rag bag." glared Cletus.
Frank turned to face Cletus, noticing the low-slung tied down holster. "Your mother must have been some sow, pig eyes!"
Cletus made a fast move toward his gun. He was not prepared for the bullet that found its mark squarely between his eyes. Watching Cletus fall, Frank smoothly holstered his weapon, the only thing he owned that wasn't covered in dust.
"I'll have that drink now barkeep."
