It was a dark and stormy day. The wood, wet from the on-and-off rains of the day seemed vibrant. Glowing. The air smelled of sagebrush and dirt.
She stepped around the back of a cluster of buildings to see what she would see.
And saw it. That hallowed place of fable and lore. The spot with one name, but many locations and endless memories... it's name echoing on the wind. Out Back.
"Meet me out back"... whispered the gunman to the outlaw, as they planned their next heist. Neither knew then that the next day one of them would be dead.
"Meet me out back"... said to the saloon girl to her lover, not wanting to get caught fraternizing with 'non-clientele'. He loved her no matter her profession and saw only the heart-of-gold on the inside her tawdry exterior. She loved the way he gazed lovingly at her, as though she were a fine lady from San Francisco instead of the wreck she had become.
"Meet me out back"... spoken with just a look the sheriff gave to his deputy as the signal to step outside - to see who else was out back, and for what illicit purpose.
Different things happen out back than in front. It's a fact.
Always been that way.
Probably always will.
bodieold westghost townwoodgrasssagebrushcloudskaren huttonhdr