Concrete Cowboys By Adam Duvall
Gold peaks at the edge of the world shine fleeting on the outskirts, the sun slides gently between the mountainous cradle, newborn sky that forms the precipice. We ride north in our pick-up horse, bouncing on the bumps in the pavement, concrete cowboys bounding far into the heart of a giant little world. Tread far, desperados on a rocky road, cookies and cream in leather-worn hands. It is sweet and pure and good, our time, our treats, our travels away into a sunset that will surely end today. Inconsistent chaos children, creatures cool as us are not broken by the gaps. I have found the wilder ones, free ranging in the cracks of the universe. Dust bowl duelists, this posse is mine, my tribe. Tonight we ride into forever, which of course is absolutely nowhere.
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