Readers of my blog know I sometimes post fanciful pieces –
fiction, humor, poetry, dog stories, even. Anyhow, the following is of that
sort. My wife loaned me a book on creative writing. It gives you topics to write on, supposedly to fire up your creativity. This one was titled “It was Sunday
morning.”
Bobby stepped off the boardwalk and looked down the dusty street. He repositioned the stiff leather gun belt and holster on his thin
hips, and wished he’d had some time to
practice.
Black Bart suddenly emerged from the livery at the other end of town. Even at 50 yards away, he seemed huge. And getting bigger. He was
striding forward, his right hand hovering over his own holstered weapon. Bobby
took a tentative step to meet him.
