Gone with the Wind

I heard a gunshot fire, as I glanced out the window of the saloon. A women screamed in horror. A chiseled image of a man appeared from the corner of an alley way. From far away my observation was that this man was in need of a shower. He walked with a sense confidence and purpose, however. As he got closer, I could see the creases that fell from his forehead. They reminded me of thick black lines of drawn ink. His eyebrows rose to a peak like the tip of Mount Kilmanjaro. His skin shawn with depth. It almost looked like the style of a old, worn out leather jacket. So much story, so much character. I attempted to read his expression, like he was a well written novel. The sun was begining to set as the man stopped in the middle of the road. He looked over at me and winked. There was something about it I found so intriguing, and at that very moment a black stalion came galuping towards this intense man, and he was gone.