Francesca, my British cowgirl bud was staying with me for a few weeks. While I was at my Home Health & Hospice job during the day, she did training with Lady Latte along with a few other jobs around the place. Tonight was the night that Francesca, Sarah and I were heading out to Elfrida for a bull riding competition.
The Longhorn Steak House in Elfrida was connected to a small arena where bull riding jackpots were held. We hadn’t had any rain in southeastern AZ and forest fires were consuming the countryside. This was a good way to take our minds off of all that. For a ten dollar admission, we could watch a while having a few drinks. Sarah had met one of riders before and had a bit of a crush on this particular cowboy. (In fact, this particular love interest won the jackpot that night.) Then after the bull riding, a few musicians played on the restaurant’s veranda. Drinking, flirting, dancing and story-telling went on into the early hours of the morning.
Before the start of the evening’s events, I noticed the abandoned Elfrida Post Office across the highway from the restaurant. Francesca and Sarah went into the restaurant a head of me. I walked over to the old post office. I placed, documented and photographed cowboy and indian found art piece #115 on front window’s ledge. Everyone else around headed into the Longhorn Steak House and ignored my preoccupation with the post office.
At the end of the night I realized that the art piece ended up having the best seat in the house. To watch the bull riding? No. The art piece had a prime view of all the men and woman who coupled up and left the festivities for a few passionate smooches in the dark night. The night that was occasionally lit by a truck or car’s headlights or the orange glow from a fire on a mountainside off in the distance. There were sparks on the horizon and between two sets of lips as the evening ended and smoldered – both smoky memoires.
