He used to talk alot. Big plans. Telling tales about leaving town. Going places like New York, San Francisco, Chicago. Said he had a woman in each of those towns. Real women, he said. Not like ’round here, he’d take another shot. Pool balls ran all over green velvet. Chalk flew.
Supported himself in all kinds of ways. He said he played billiards with the best of them. His specialty was eight ball. The tall lanky young man was always the last to knock the magic black ball in. Said he spent his money as fast as he made it. Spent it on booze and women. Had nothing to show for it but marks on his neck.
The kid wore a cowboy hat. Nice one. Brown. Had a leather band going ’round it. Said he won it from a guy in Dallas. Couldn’t pay up. So he took his hat. Looked like a movie star. He did take pride in the way he looked. Straight legged jeans and fancy western shirts. Chicks dug him. Least he said so.
Called himself Dean. Didn’t catch the last name. I kept thinking of Dean Moriarty. Crazy roustabout. Said he was heading out to Denver. Just like Dean Moriarty in the book. Was gonna get his kicks out there for awhile. Said there was a doll waiting for him. Cute little blonde girl. One of many I suppose.
You never know with guys like this. What’s true and what’s a lie. I gotta feeling it was all lies. He talked too much.