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Old Habits

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This particular saloon wasn't much. He spat again before pushing through swinging doors that were just a hair off kilter. Even the conversations inside were muted, the voices somehow subdued by the ominous and continuous presence of death. Not too different from the old days to be honest, but the afterlife carried a depressing and lackluster aura with it, a cheap facsimile only simulating real life.

The booze didn't burn, the sex didn't titillate, and the bullets certainly didn't do shit in this place. Not anything that hadn't already been done, that is.

The dead cowboy still stalked to the bar like he might be looking for a fight.

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