(no subject)
Aug. 17th, 2005 02:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lastgunslingerYou'd never know the occupant of Room 99 at Milliways Bar was gone.
It still smells of tobacco here, and gun-oil, and the outside breeze and forest. That's what happens when you smoke with the windows open, your feet thrown up on the windowsill, in order to contemplate the sunset.
In the CD/DVD player is Johnny Cash's last album -- American IV: The Man Comes Around. One odd Manni hymn doesn't make a bad album, after all.
The bed is made, white coverlet neat...except for one wrinkled spot, where maybe a gunslinger sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots and gather his wits before descending for the last time.
No paper on the writing desk. Instead, certain objects are lined along the surface. Joe Manco glares across the room towards the door, on his white box -- only here he is Blondie, a man with no real name.
The occupant of Room 99 knew better.
A sword handcrafted by the master Hattori Hanzo rests in the more used of two armchairs by the window.
There are a few scattered kernels of popcorn still on the floor.
And lined up on the edge of the bed are a series of creamy-white envelopes.
It still smells of tobacco here, and gun-oil, and the outside breeze and forest. That's what happens when you smoke with the windows open, your feet thrown up on the windowsill, in order to contemplate the sunset.
In the CD/DVD player is Johnny Cash's last album -- American IV: The Man Comes Around. One odd Manni hymn doesn't make a bad album, after all.
The bed is made, white coverlet neat...except for one wrinkled spot, where maybe a gunslinger sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots and gather his wits before descending for the last time.
No paper on the writing desk. Instead, certain objects are lined along the surface. Joe Manco glares across the room towards the door, on his white box -- only here he is Blondie, a man with no real name.
The occupant of Room 99 knew better.
A sword handcrafted by the master Hattori Hanzo rests in the more used of two armchairs by the window.
There are a few scattered kernels of popcorn still on the floor.
And lined up on the edge of the bed are a series of creamy-white envelopes.
