He propped himself against a wire trashcan, observing each passersby under the brim of his hat. He was surrounded by dry planes of asphalt and his Dodge was his stallion. Paper tumble weeds caressed his boots as they rolled along the gutter. The streetlamps stood tall like green cacti. The last cowboy whiffed the air, and was rudely awoken not by the smell of flora and fauna, but the smell of subway and sweltering blacktop. He was far from the rural land he’d grow accustomed.
The last cowboy was on a search for the lush and alive land he dearly missed. This urban metropolis is not what he found striking. These skyscrapers couldn’t compare to the rolling hills and canyon walls of the west. Even though the city was filled with many people, it still seemed lifeless when compared to the very much alive and active grassland. He sauntered down the gray sidewalk, herding the bovine citizens north. The only vegetation in sight was the few weeds reaching toward the sky, pleading for sustenance. The last cowboy continued on, under the gray sky, herding and sowing the grime with the tips of his boots.
A familiar smell came from up ahead. The cowboy felt anxious and was extremely curious to find the source of this familiar smell. The smell sent him into a wave of nostalgia and longing. Did he smell pit beef? Or could it be cows? What about leather? Further on, he perceived a neon sign. He focused his gaze, and read the one word that could make any westerner ecstatic. He positioned his hands on his belt buckle and mouthed the word: “Rodeo. “
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