Stockyards City, Oklahoma

Towering white clouds roiled in the endless Oklahoma sky, a storm seething beneath a picture-perfect Polaroid. She knew she’d find him here in the wide open spaces, in the wild, untouched hinterlands, in the dusty detritus between love and loathing.

Spinning a three-point through the jagged gravel of the stockyard, she spat his name to the ceaseless Oklahoma wind, a ragged moan cutting beneath the well-practiced growl.

Suddenly, she smiled. The cowboys were gelding calves today, and lamb fries were on the menu.

Music: Straight Tequila Night by John Anderson (lyrics)