Cheyenne

And I turned over my shoulder to see her. Her perfume wafting over to me cutting the thick air of alcohol and smoke, the tits and ass, the broken dreams. She hugged me like we'd known eachother for years. Kissed me gently on the cheek.

"I missed you, you look good.."

I pause and smile. Ash my cigarette, sip my free drink, put my arm around the guy sitting next to me. She giggles. Holds her chin, cracks a smile through her fresh botox treatments. Remembering the times when she taught me. How to walk and talk. How to milk 'em for cash. But now, I'm a pro.

"I just got my chin done, I look like I just had a stroke."

She looks like she's had three strokes. But she looks good for an old bag. Tits done, lipo, chin done, botox. She's 40-something, but she looks 34. Soft eyes that glisten in the lights, maybe its the alcohol, but her charisma makes her sparkle.

"Come back baby, we miss you, this is a small town, don't burn your bridges."

I'm happy here. Now. Away from the sick celluloid fantasy. Although, something draws me to it. Maybe life is one giant burlesque show. Faking out someone else's dreams. Looking for a light at the end of the tunnel and if you're not fast enough you'll get stuck like her.

Drunk guy dribbles over my shoulder.

"Ya ever been to Wyomin sweetie?"