mothvire
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“Hello there! Ah, I see you’re new around these parts. I’m old around these parts. Blind Man Cassidy is my name. If you’d like your fortune told, I just ask for a bit of gold.” He holds out a tin coffee can smothered in rust, full of empty, whistling desert air. Heat broils up around them and makes the horizon waver.
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Arthur knows now, so many miles later, he never should have stopped. He never should have stopped along the trail, and he certainly never should have given that man any money. Damn this moment of charity, of weakness, and all the change it brought about.