‘What in the name of fuck are you tryin to do?’ said a shadow over him. Jay blinked. A man with a fat moustache and a bent hat was dragging him up to his feet. ‘I was thirsty,’ Jay said. ‘A lotta people get thirsty,’ said the man. ‘You know what they do? They go to the saloon. They don’t try’n drown ‘emselves in horse spit.’
