Freedom Loving Cowboy

Freedom Loving Cowboy At the bar, by the docks, I spoke to a man who wore a cowboy hat and had a pearl handle revolver in his holster. A thud and the pretend cowboy hit the floor and the barman ducked behind his counter. It was an exploding tire; relieved laughter which the same when we sat in the bomb shelter and a plane overhead dropped its load in parts of town where local Nazis´ lived. Terror begets terror and becomes a psychosis, what we don´t understand becomes terror and we have to arm ourselves and not ask tedious questions. I was offered a job at this vibrant place, but declined feared the undelaying panic, that often explodes into violence, would get me, I would buy a gun hide it at the top of the wardrobe and when bad people broke in, rush upstairs, find it, nervously load it spill bullets on the floor - reload- shoot myself in the foot. The man, in the cowboy hat, had just told me he lived in the freest county in the world.