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A dieing breed

She sits alone on a barstool crying
Inside she feels like dying
Scent of whiskey on her breath
But she’s still sober
She still knows how bad she feels
She still remembers the happy years.
The ones he turned his back on.
The bartender gives her a smile that’s kind, and says “Darling, what’s with the crying?”
She laughs and says “ Don’t you see? Cowgirls like me are a dying breed.”





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