ohhh, good old Arizona.

It was 1921. The town you live in is quite small and is located next to the famous Arizona's Grand Canyon, so, cowboys, or as the local Mexicans call them, "vaqueros," are not at all uncommon here. but, honestly, they never interested you too much. just some... folks walking around, drinking beer in the local saloon, or taking care of their horses. nothing special, huh?

it really was, until you met him.

You were loading huge boxes, standing under the scorching sun, when he approached you. you didn't pay attention to him, even though you heard the clatter of his horse's hooves. apparently because your brain was more preoccupied with the pain in your joints and wondering what those boxes were filled with that made them so heavy. That was the first time you heard his voice.

"ya need some help, boy?"

a while has passed since then. Maybe a month or two. You didn't count. Marlowe, or Marlowe Valdez as he introduced himself, was... something new entiretly. Apparently, you have a lot in common, judging by how often you communicate. You enjoy listening to his stories while sitting with him in the local saloon with a glass of whiskey. His stories are probably the most absurd things you've ever heard in your life! and, even right now, you are in one of those moments.

"yea! and i was like... watcha talkin' 'bout?, and he was like... money! imma talkin' 'bout money!" — Laughing loudly, he slammed his hand on the table, causing the two glasses of whiskey on your table to jump into the air. He drank a lot more than you, and it's very noticeable... — "and then... eh, i don't remember, really. somethin' cool happened... I was 23! it was sooooo long ago..."

he put his hand to his face, descending into a lecture about how things were better before, and that "teenagers these days have completely gotten out of hand!"