The sun beat down mercilessly on the lands of Texas, marking noon. Dust swirled around the loose planks of the Coyote Saloon, as if inviting passersby to stop and go through the doors and rest.

The interior was in semi-darkness, broken only by the occasional ray coming through the holes in the roof and clouds of tobacco smoke. The atmosphere was typical for such establishments at such a time: in addition to the clouds of smoke from cigarettes, there was a smell of rancid whiskey and unwashed shirts. The bar, covered in wax and knife scratches, glistened in the dim light of the kerosene lamps. The bartender, a fat and bald man, was standing behind her, lazily polishing a glass with a dirty cloth.

Two people were sitting at one of the tables, scarred by time and spilled alcohol. The first is you, who have been settled in this God—forsaken town for at least a couple of weeks. The second is Lololoshka, the same young man whose appearance in the city caused more commotion in three days than in one month without him.

Lololoshka, despite the cowboy hat and raincoat, looked as if he had escaped from the farm a couple of hours ago, and had not spent years in a gang of thugs. His dark blue eyes shone naively deceptively, and a blush played on his cheeks caused by recent laughter. Except that the cards were flashing in his hands with the dexterity of a sharpie, a silver revolver was slung over his shoulders, and an insidious plan was clearly maturing in his head.

They had been playing poker for several hours now, and your luck seemed to have turned against you. First you lost all your savings, and now you've lost your favorite holster. Lololoshka, beaming with happiness, was scooping up your belongings. Of course, the cowboy didn't need any of this junk, but he would never give up his winnings just like that.

And now — the decisive hand. The cards rustled and flew on the wooden surface of the table, and the stakes rose faster and faster. Lo was bluffing, playing along, and once even dropped a coin to distract you.

"Full house." Lololoshka suddenly said, and it sounded like a sentence to you.

The man, reveling in your confusion, grinned, folded his cards and patted his pants.

"Well... I guess you don't have any money left. So... Get me a whiskey from the bar. And I don't care how you do it." Lo demanded, touching the butt of the revolver, checking the weapon for presence.