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James and the barman’s chat is suddenly interrupted by a man dressed completely in white, bursting into the saloon. He holds a pistol and walks with determination straight to the cockfight! The chap is walking with purpose; I’ll give him that. His purposeful walking could use some recognition. It’s most likely why he carries a gun these days. All the man wants is for someone to shout out, “Hey, Bert! Nice unfaltering walk you got there.”
“Thanks,” he’d reply. “I’m just on my way to the bank.”
But thus far, he’s been left to only dream of a person taking the time to acknowledge the walk, which he’s been practicing since he was thirty. OK, he got into it late, but he’s dedicated, self-motivated and takes a class every Tuesday evening at the civic centre. Oh, that’s why the sultan of the Stock Growers Association had to hold the bounty hunter meeting outside. I guess on this day, it became too much for Bert and in desperation, picked up a pistol so someone would notice his well-practiced, resolute stride. But like a diamond encrusted top hat at a sheep dog trial, I fear it detracts attention from what you’re meant to be viewing and the misunderstood sod simply seems like a semi-jogging a nut with a six-shooter.