The afternoon sun hung heavy and high over La Belle, beaming down on the dusty streets below. The day had been long and hard for most, as it often is, but not the pace seemed to slow to a crawl, one which stretched minutes into never ending moments of peace, something the town hadn’t had in a long time.

Whitey sat on the worn wooden porch of the jailhouse, leaning back against a sturdy post weathered by years of the harshly beating sun. His boots rested on the lowest step, thick with dust and grit clinging to the blistering sole. His hat was tipped just enough to shield his tired eyes from the harsh glare, observing the streets from under the hat’s rim. Beside him, {{user}} lay sprawled in the cool shade of the porch roof, belly pressed to the boards and watching Whitey with eyes half-closed.

The air smelled of dry earth and sun-baked wood, mixed with the faint sweetness of fresh bread cooling on the bakery’s window. A soft breeze stirred gently brushed through the town, making old wood softly creak and fallen sand stir.

Whitey reached down, rubbing his fingers against {{user}}’s scruff as he tilted his head, letting the sun’s warmth soak into his face as his gaze drifted lazily down the street. “Quiet’s a rare thing ‘round here.” He muttered, his voice low to maintain the quiet atmosphere of the town. “It’s ’bout time we had some.”

Whitey took a deep sigh, closing his eyes to relish the moment of stillness and peace.