| Humor Fiction posted July 16, 2023 |
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Tom T. Hall almost wrote my life
Faster Horses, Younger Women
by Terry Broxson
Tom T. Hall's song, "Faster Horses, The Cowboy, and The Poet," had been around for years before I paid attention to the words.
It happened on my thirty-eighth birthday, alone, as usual. I suppose it could have been the birthday cake I bought or the whiskey I drank that allowed my ears to hear and my mind to open.
The song spoke to me with truth and wisdom.
Mr. Hall sang about a poet that met an old cowboy and asked him about the mysteries of life. The Cowboy said it's about faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, and more money. The Poet, being a poet, doesn't agree with any of those sentiments, as poets are above all that, or maybe below it, depending on one's perspective.
I'll admit I'd written a poem or two, but listening to the song conflicted me about who I wanted to identify with—the Cowboy or the Poet.
After cogitating on the subject for a week or so and listening to the song about a hundred times, I decided the Cowboy's words would provide new directions for my life.
My plan to achieve success required me to tackle the advice in reverse order. I thought, get more money first. That means I can buy older whiskey, which costs substantially more than the cheap stuff I had been drinking.
More money and older whiskey will lead to younger women. My thought process took a back seat at this point. Those faster horses would have to wait until I got the younger women.
I'd been married and divorced twice. I never had kids to support. The doctor told me, "Sir, you shoot blanks."
"Maybe so, Doc, but they're big blanks."
I had a good gig as an air conditioning repair technician. In Texas, with all our global warming, this is a high-demand job. After the last divorce, I got myself a new fourteen-year-old mobile home.
Our air conditioning repair company did pretty well. I kept my work simple. If your unit wasn't cooling and still in warranty, you got a new compressor. If it wasn't under warranty, the customer needed to spend $3500 on a new compressor. I didn't want to get all hot and sweaty trying to figure out why the dang thing didn't work.
Of course, the boss did get a few complaints, and some refunds were made to avoid any jail time. Truth be told, the cash flow just wasn't enough to support my Cowboy-inspired lifestyle. I needed a new plan for the more money thing.
Let me tell you how Lady Luck stepped in. Or call it Cowboy Luck.
I stopped at my usual Get-n-Go after work and picked up a six-pack of Lone Star, the official beer of Texas, and a couple of five-dollar scratch-offs for the Texas Two-Step Lotto.
Fifty thousand big ones! Cowboy hit the nail on the head...more money.
I didn't go crazy and quit my job or nothing. I bought some Johnny Walker Blue Label. That's the same whiskey, Jerry Jones, owner of the Dallas Cowboys, drinks. It's $499 a bottle, but I did get a ten percent discount by paying cash for a case.
I now had more money and older whiskey. Step three meant younger women. I thought it best to start with one.
The primo place in Dallas to meet beautiful semi-refined young ladies of which the Cowboy spoke is Humperwhistles on Lower Greenville Avenue. But I had a couple of stops to make first.
At Sewell Villiage Cadillac, I rented a Cowboy Blue Escalade.
I stopped at Nate Stucky's Cowboy Outfitters for some new duds. It's important in Texas to look like a cowboy. But it's more important not to smell like one. So, with my new outfit and a spray of Polo Red Cologne. I prepared to meet my destiny.
Turns out her name wasn't Destiny but twenty-one-year-old Sue Ellen.
I didn't exactly find Sue Ellen. She heard me order a Johnny Walker Blue as I sat down beside her at the long bar, which made Humperwhistles famous.
"I've never tried Johnny Walker Blue. Is it as good as they say?"
I tried the first Little Darlin' on her. "Well, Little Darlin', let me buy you one, and you tell me."
"My mother named me for her favorite character on the television show Dallas."
"Little Darlin', that's way before my time. I think my grandmother may have watched it."
One Johnny Walker Blue turned into six for her. I think, but I am not really sure. Not clear on my consumption either. I do remember it was a hundred dollars a shot, plus my high roller tip.
Sue Ellen and I ended up at the Texas Roadhouse for a late steak dinner. After, I laid down a few Benjamins for the meal and wine. I suggested, "We could go back to my place, but the maid didn't come today. What do you say we go to the Hyatt Regency."
"That would just be dandy, Cowboy."
The following morning I felt like I'd lived through another country song. "Every Which Way But Loose."
I called my boss. "Jerry Jeff, I tested positive for Covid. I can't be around people for a week or so."
The best week of my life turned into a blur. Sue Ellen wanted to see my place, but I said I was having some tile work in the kitchen and bathrooms.
I rented a junior suite at the Hyatt and bought a few more clothes from Nate Stucky. Little Darlin' decided she liked the Hyatt and brought two suitcases.
"I told my mother I needed to help my friend, Heather, settle into her new apartment. Mother doesn't like me around anyway. Says it cramps her style."
The next sentence out of her mouth caused my whole body to tingle.
"Cowboy, we need to go to Lousiana Downs racetrack and bet the ponies."
Faster Horses!
The Cadillac Escalade made quick work covering the 180 miles to Bossier City.
The Louisiana Derby would be the last race of the day. The biggest race of the year, with the biggest crowd and the most wagering. It would have the fastest horses.
I gave Sue Ellen two hundred dollars to bet on each race and told her she could keep whatever she won. There were ten races before the Derby. I only bet a hundred on each race, but my eyes and hands twitched for the last race and the faster horse.
I looked over the Racing Form and saw a four-year-old named Golden. He was number 7. He had the same number as Mickey Mantle, the great Yankee slugger and long-time Dallas resident.
I thought. Golden 7, the faster horse. His odds were 15-1. I had six thousand three hundred dollars left. I bet six thousand two hundred to win on number 7, Golden.
Should have bet on Stewball. At least I had gas money to get home.
As we left the racetrack, I asked Sue Ellen how she did.
"Cowboy, I've had so much fun; I won eight thousand seven hundred and forty dollars! Let's do this again."
"Little Darlin', I gotta return to Dallas. I have an important business deal that just came up. But we will do this again, real soon."
I kissed her goodbye and left her at her mother's place. With only forty dollars left in my pocket, I figured I'd never see Humperwhistles or Sue Ellen again.
I turned in the Escalade and drove my ten-year-old Ford F-150 pickup back to my mobile home sweet home. I spent ten bucks on a bucket of fried chicken from the Colonel.
I still had a bottle of the Johnny Walker Blue. I'm gonna keep it as a reminder to listen to the inner poet in me and not that dang Cowboy. How do you find faster horses, anyway?
But what a week it was. I mean, it really was.
Until I found the letter in my mailbox, the Texas Lottery gave me a friendly reminder to set aside $20,000 for taxes.
Tom T. Hall's song, "Faster Horses, The Cowboy, and The Poet," had been around for years before I paid attention to the words.
It happened on my thirty-eighth birthday, alone, as usual. I suppose it could have been the birthday cake I bought or the whiskey I drank that allowed my ears to hear and my mind to open.
The song spoke to me with truth and wisdom.
Mr. Hall sang about a poet that met an old cowboy and asked him about the mysteries of life. The Cowboy said it's about faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, and more money. The Poet, being a poet, doesn't agree with any of those sentiments, as poets are above all that, or maybe below it, depending on one's perspective.
I'll admit I'd written a poem or two, but listening to the song conflicted me about who I wanted to identify with—the Cowboy or the Poet.
After cogitating on the subject for a week or so and listening to the song about a hundred times, I decided the Cowboy's words would provide new directions for my life.
My plan to achieve success required me to tackle the advice in reverse order. I thought, get more money first. That means I can buy older whiskey, which costs substantially more than the cheap stuff I had been drinking.
More money and older whiskey will lead to younger women. My thought process took a back seat at this point. Those faster horses would have to wait until I got the younger women.
I'd been married and divorced twice. I never had kids to support. The doctor told me, "Sir, you shoot blanks."
"Maybe so, Doc, but they're big blanks."
I had a good gig as an air conditioning repair technician. In Texas, with all our global warming, this is a high-demand job. After the last divorce, I got myself a new fourteen-year-old mobile home.
Our air conditioning repair company did pretty well. I kept my work simple. If your unit wasn't cooling and still in warranty, you got a new compressor. If it wasn't under warranty, the customer needed to spend $3500 on a new compressor. I didn't want to get all hot and sweaty trying to figure out why the dang thing didn't work.
Of course, the boss did get a few complaints, and some refunds were made to avoid any jail time. Truth be told, the cash flow just wasn't enough to support my Cowboy-inspired lifestyle. I needed a new plan for the more money thing.
Let me tell you how Lady Luck stepped in. Or call it Cowboy Luck.
I stopped at my usual Get-n-Go after work and picked up a six-pack of Lone Star, the official beer of Texas, and a couple of five-dollar scratch-offs for the Texas Two-Step Lotto.
Fifty thousand big ones! Cowboy hit the nail on the head...more money.
I didn't go crazy and quit my job or nothing. I bought some Johnny Walker Blue Label. That's the same whiskey, Jerry Jones, owner of the Dallas Cowboys, drinks. It's $499 a bottle, but I did get a ten percent discount by paying cash for a case.
I now had more money and older whiskey. Step three meant younger women. I thought it best to start with one.
The primo place in Dallas to meet beautiful semi-refined young ladies of which the Cowboy spoke is Humperwhistles on Lower Greenville Avenue. But I had a couple of stops to make first.
At Sewell Villiage Cadillac, I rented a Cowboy Blue Escalade.
I stopped at Nate Stucky's Cowboy Outfitters for some new duds. It's important in Texas to look like a cowboy. But it's more important not to smell like one. So, with my new outfit and a spray of Polo Red Cologne. I prepared to meet my destiny.
Turns out her name wasn't Destiny but twenty-one-year-old Sue Ellen.
I didn't exactly find Sue Ellen. She heard me order a Johnny Walker Blue as I sat down beside her at the long bar, which made Humperwhistles famous.
"I've never tried Johnny Walker Blue. Is it as good as they say?"
I tried the first Little Darlin' on her. "Well, Little Darlin', let me buy you one, and you tell me."
"My mother named me for her favorite character on the television show Dallas."
"Little Darlin', that's way before my time. I think my grandmother may have watched it."
One Johnny Walker Blue turned into six for her. I think, but I am not really sure. Not clear on my consumption either. I do remember it was a hundred dollars a shot, plus my high roller tip.
Sue Ellen and I ended up at the Texas Roadhouse for a late steak dinner. After, I laid down a few Benjamins for the meal and wine. I suggested, "We could go back to my place, but the maid didn't come today. What do you say we go to the Hyatt Regency."
"That would just be dandy, Cowboy."
The following morning I felt like I'd lived through another country song. "Every Which Way But Loose."
I called my boss. "Jerry Jeff, I tested positive for Covid. I can't be around people for a week or so."
The best week of my life turned into a blur. Sue Ellen wanted to see my place, but I said I was having some tile work in the kitchen and bathrooms.
I rented a junior suite at the Hyatt and bought a few more clothes from Nate Stucky. Little Darlin' decided she liked the Hyatt and brought two suitcases.
"I told my mother I needed to help my friend, Heather, settle into her new apartment. Mother doesn't like me around anyway. Says it cramps her style."
The next sentence out of her mouth caused my whole body to tingle.
"Cowboy, we need to go to Lousiana Downs racetrack and bet the ponies."
Faster Horses!
The Cadillac Escalade made quick work covering the 180 miles to Bossier City.
The Louisiana Derby would be the last race of the day. The biggest race of the year, with the biggest crowd and the most wagering. It would have the fastest horses.
I gave Sue Ellen two hundred dollars to bet on each race and told her she could keep whatever she won. There were ten races before the Derby. I only bet a hundred on each race, but my eyes and hands twitched for the last race and the faster horse.
I looked over the Racing Form and saw a four-year-old named Golden. He was number 7. He had the same number as Mickey Mantle, the great Yankee slugger and long-time Dallas resident.
I thought. Golden 7, the faster horse. His odds were 15-1. I had six thousand three hundred dollars left. I bet six thousand two hundred to win on number 7, Golden.
Should have bet on Stewball. At least I had gas money to get home.
As we left the racetrack, I asked Sue Ellen how she did.
"Cowboy, I've had so much fun; I won eight thousand seven hundred and forty dollars! Let's do this again."
"Little Darlin', I gotta return to Dallas. I have an important business deal that just came up. But we will do this again, real soon."
I kissed her goodbye and left her at her mother's place. With only forty dollars left in my pocket, I figured I'd never see Humperwhistles or Sue Ellen again.
I turned in the Escalade and drove my ten-year-old Ford F-150 pickup back to my mobile home sweet home. I spent ten bucks on a bucket of fried chicken from the Colonel.
I still had a bottle of the Johnny Walker Blue. I'm gonna keep it as a reminder to listen to the inner poet in me and not that dang Cowboy. How do you find faster horses, anyway?
But what a week it was. I mean, it really was.
Until I found the letter in my mailbox, the Texas Lottery gave me a friendly reminder to set aside $20,000 for taxes.
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