They Saved Calling Him “Joe”… And He Saved Believing It
A cowboy walks right into a saloon.
Orders a whiskey.
Simply as he’s about to take a sip—
A person bursts via the door:
“JOE! Your own home is on fireplace!”
He jumps up.
Runs outdoors.
Will get on his horse—
Pause.
“…I don’t also have a home.”
He goes again in. Sits down.
Raises the glass once more—
BANG. The door flies open.
“JOE! Your dad simply died!”
He freezes.
Runs out.
Jumps on his horse—
Midway down the road—
“…my dad died 9 years in the past.”
He turns again. Calm now.
Sits.
Lifts the whiskey—
ONE MORE TIME—
The door slams open once more.
“JOE!! You simply received the lottery!!
There’s a pile of money ready on the put up workplace!”
This time—no hesitation.
He bolts.
Jumps on the horse.
Full pace.
Mud in all places.
He’s virtually there—
Slowly…
it hits him.
“…wait.”
Pause.
“…my identify isn’t Joe.”
