The woman at the end of the bar was purring next to a tall man in a cowboy hat. Her makeup was thick, like to she drew on her face with crayons, perhaps to seem younger though she couldn’t have been older than late-twenties. To seem older? She talked in harsh laughs, little short puffs that punctuated every sentence. Her eyes were fixed on her cowboy, though the cowboy didn’t hardly look at her. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, tired, and wanting to be left alone, but not ready to let her go either, his hand firmly around her waist. “Get ‘im another beer, Bart! This guy’s too uptight today. Need to loosen that tight jaw of his.” Laugh laugh laugh.

Jimmy turned until his bad eye was facing them and he could no longer see them. His eye. He’d forgotten about his eye. How did it happen? He put his hand in front of his right eye. Nothing. Just black. He touched an eye patch.

“Forget the beer! A woman is what he needs. One that’s got bite! Margarita! That’s it! That senorita’ll show him the what for! Give ‘im one of those, Bart!”

Jimmy lifted the patch and let go so that it smacked his forehead. Still black. He felt his chest tighten. The temple next to his bad eye throbbed.

“Don’t use no cheap stuff, neither! Put in something strong and smooth…” This last part was the only part she said that wasn’t half hyena, and she gave the cowboy’s bicep a squeeze through his denim jacket.

Jimmy could see them again. Them and a man sitting two stools down from him he didn’t notice before, lighting up a cigarette with a match from one of the neon matchbooks littering the bar like half-hearted confetti. The man saw Jimmy staring at him, then coughed up a mouthful of smoke. “Damn, Jimmy, put that thing back on. You’ll scare off the women.” He had a crooked smile but wouldn’t look Jimmy in the eye, his own eyes squinting and blinking like crazy.

“What women?” Jimmy said before he could think out his words. “Just that drunk one over there.” His voice was starting to sound panicked. He felt like he’d been sitting here all his life, like he couldn’t move, but his one good eye couldn’t sit still. “You know me? I don’t know you from Adam. Or Eve. Where am I, old man? If you know me, tell me that much?” …