Cold Beer Cheap Tacos

Everyone sat in chairs in a circle. The linoleum tile gave an awkward effect to the rustling, weak coughing, and silence. "I see we have someone new to the group today. Would you like to share with the group today?" Said the little guy in glasses. Busch looks down at his coffee. He drops his cigarette in the cup and sets it on the floor. He clears his throat. There was a shine on his jaw as it flexed under the stubble. "I've never told anyone this before. It's , it's always been hard for me to open, to open up to people. It just seems kinda gay." He adjusts his gold chain and pops a couple knuckles. "So, anyway, I woke up while pooping. It was the most disorienting thing that has ever happened to me. I wasn't sure how long I had been there, or how I got there. I stood up and could feel...something...running down my legs. As I entered the hallway.." "Okay, sir, I going to have to ask..." The guy in glasses started to say. Busch waved him off and continued. "I may have been drugged, but I'm not sure. Like I said, it was very disorienting." Opening your own restaurant called Cold Beer and Cheap Tacos is not as easy as it sounds. Drug dealers, corrupt city officials, friends in low places and a host of other problems is going to make opening this hole-in-the-wall require a wrecking ball. Busch will succeed or die trying.

Just a lonely drifter with a pastel complexion and a cheap sombrero.
With rape and violence rampant in this land, with human flesh cheapened and vulgarized, one of the last bastions of human decency is the gentle satisfaction one gains from making a horse-head bookend.