STRANGER AT THE
CORNER TABLE
The year was
1896 (or is that 1996). It was that time
of day when shadows begin to turn into darkness. A few short minutes after the blistering sun
disappears over the horizon leaving behind temperatures near 90 degrees. A gentle breeze suddenly picked up in the
distance and could be heard racing through the trees from the west. As it crossed the road, it swirled in a
circle, picked up sand and dust, scattered it across the porch of the small café
in Alma, New Mexico; then it was gone.
The only sound
left behind, the steady rhythm of a rocking chair creaking the weather-beaten
floor of that porch, had been unaffected by the passing wind. A middle aged lady wearing a long dress (or
was it blue jeans) kept that chair rocking as she stared down the dusty trail
(or was that a paved road).
Suddenly,
another gust of wind picked up in the distance and headed her way. This one picked up speed as it approached and
swirled harder as it crossed the road.
The lady stopped rocking and raised her hand to protect her face from
the dust.
When it cleared, she
saw a lone rider on a black horse (or was that a green Blazer) coming down the
road. She stared for a moment, but did
not recognize the stranger as he neared her café. There was no expression on her face as she raised up from her rocking chair and went
inside.
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