Beneath The Valley Oak

Let It Ride from Beneath The Valley Oak –

Let me disabuse you of the notion that a man on the brink cain't elevate himself to a higher status, even in this gristmill of a world. Constraints bein' what they may, I needed an influx of cash, so I walked into the Terra Casa bank and withdrew every dollar attributed to my name. Then, like the many fools before me inflicted by the notion of grand living, setting their sights on a higher power, I put my head down and went across the road to the saloon. There was a space open, to my amelioration or degradation, the answer to that forthcoming, so I placed every cent I'd scrounged rustling cattle on the table. "Whiskey!" I shouted at the barkeep. "On red, please," I whispered to the table runner. As it spun, so did I, and it wasn't until the final ticks of that wheel I drained my whiskey. Bitter, necessary.

"Winner," said the table runner.

I had done it; a small part of me knew I would, but I'd kept that part at bay, not wanting hope to muddy the waters of luck. Then, to my consternation, I heard a terrible voice whisper, "Let it ride."

"Man with the green shirt wants to let it ride," shouted the table runner to the room. Red shirts, white, black, blue uns', but only one green shirt among em', and I was wearing it.

Let it ride. Twas' a cosmic voice spoken with the confidence of a terrestrial fool. The wheel spun. I considered hightailing, but whether I ran out now or walked out after, destitution did not care.

"Whiskey—bring the goddamn bottle!" 

Tick, Tick, Tick...Tick....Tick.......Tick.............Tick.