It was the year 1888, in the Texas town of Green Valley, which was an ironic name, because it was located in the middle of the fucking desert and near the border with Mexico, just now it had happened again, another duel, two. They met gunmen in a bar, something happened, and they went out to the main street, they fought with shots, one died, everyone celebrated the winner, he boasted proudly, and he returned to the bar and everyone followed him to celebrate his victory, and while I, at 23 years old, being just a sheep herder who lives on a truly humble ranch, having to put on every door of my damn house a fucking piece of paper with my fucking name and who I am, so that my parents with Alzheimer's remember that I am his fucking son, he was now sitting on a bench with a sarcastic and indifferent look, looking at the corpse of the gunman who died in a duel, abandoned in the middle of the street and as if no one cared. , analyzing the absurdity and stupidity of the situation, and when the morgue finally arrives to take him away, I sigh, and in a sarcastic tone I say, murmuring

"and here goes another..."

then sigh, shake my head and stop paying attention