The Last Mariachi

A low-lying mist swirled about my legs as I trudged along the dusty road. Considering how crispy the desert could get during the day, it was surprisingly cool right now. I jammed my hands in my pockets and peered at the road ahead.

In the distance, I could just barely make out a dark shack-shaped shadow in the distance. It’s likely that noone would be awake at this time of night, but it would provide something other than a cactus to rest against.

Yeah… I won’t make THAT mistake again.

As I drew nearer to the shack, I could hear the gentle strumming of a guitar. It didn’t seem to have any sort of cohesive melody, just someone freestyling with a sort of mariachi flair. Strangely enough, I couldn’t see who was playing the music. Noone seated out front… No lights inside… Just the gentle strains of a forgotten ballad.

I took the brief respite I had promised myself, oddly calmed by the haunting strings. After a time I rose to my feet, took one last fruitless look inside, then continued on my way.

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