“Well, this is where I get off, Baby Blue. I got a cozy little spread about a dozen miles out-of-town.”
“This don’t look like no town to me, Buzz. The flies have taken over the ticket booth in the hole you say is the station.”
“I’m not a man for big words, Blue, but I can manage to ask you to stay for a spell.”
“You don’t look like the kind of guy a kind of girl like me can hold onto for much longer than the next time the whistle from the westbound blows.”
“You once said that I was the sort of guy who could leave his boots under your bed.”
“That was back in Little Rock. You had a fresh bandanna on that night. You looked like Mel Gibson without the attitude.”
“That’s sayin’ a lot, girlie. You kept those cowpokes sweeping the boardwalk so you could keep your Gucci boots clean. You traded those Gucci’s for a pair of J. C. Penney “cowgirl” shoes that were made in Sri Lanka.”
“We’ve both come a long way since then, Buzz, and almost all of it was rolling down a hill full of tumbleweeds and thistles.”
“You can’t keep looking back, Baby. It only shows you where you’ve been and not where you’re goin'”
“And you want me to get more dust on my shoes down at your spread? I’m thinking twice about that.”
“Well, don’t think twice, it’s alright. Say, I never caught your last name, Sweet Cakes.”
“I didn’t throw it, Bronco Buster. If you want to know who I really am, check the wall of the nearest Post Office.”
“Why? Are you the Post Master General?”
“Let’s just say I’m the Post Mistress of these here parts.”
“Dang. And all these years I lived on my cozy little spread, I never ran into you.”
“That’s because nobody wrote you any letters, Larry. Ya got to have friends to get and send letters.”
“Well, lick my stamps, Baby Blue, you sure are full of surprises.”
“I got one more surprise for you, Saddle Tramp, nobody licks stamps anymore. They’re self-stick these days.”
“Well, I got one for you too, Blaze, nobody sends letters any more. It’s all email. Where have you been? Out back of the stable braiding horse tails?”
The train lurched to a stop.
“One minute,” the station master yells.
Baby Blue pull her bonnet off and let her wild red tresses cascade over her slender tender shoulders.
Buzz broke out in a sweat. He hooked his forefinger under his collar and tugged to let out the steam. It was 106 in the shade.
“So, we’re both getting off. But you’re goin’ thataway and I’m goin’ thisaway, so I guess it’s good-bye, said Blue.
“Good-bye is too good a word, Babe. I’ll be seeing you around when my fan mail starts pouring into the Post Office.”
“What fan mail? Did you go on The Bachelorette again?”
“No, the fan mail from my blog award. This is just a big blog idea, Sweet Cake. All this never really happened.”
She stared at him for a full two minutes.
“I think you’d better go saddle up Old Paint and ride off into the sunset, Buzz, you’ve had too much sun.”
“I can’t ride off into the sunset, Blue, I live north of here. You wouldn’t understand.”
Two hours later, Baby Blue was sorting mail in the air-conditioned Post Office while Buzz was getting a sore bottom on a sour saddle. He was lost in thought. But Old Paint knew the way home, after, of course, the bathroom stop at the Organ Grinder Saloon.
“There got to be a better way to end this blog,” he thought. “In just one of these stories, I should get the girl.”