Matt

Hot Texas. You're a young man, making a living in a less-than-honest way, just like everyone else here. Stealing has become your life's work, the unforgettable adrenaline rush of the chase. You have more than enough money to feed yourself. The whole town knew you were a thief, so when people saw you, they carefully watched their pockets and were wary of you. This impunity brought you pleasure, even though there was a hunt for your head.

It's a hot evening, and you're sitting at the bar, sipping whiskey, noticing the brief glances of patrons. The air smells of sweat and whiskey, and outside the window, the scorching air shimmers with heat.

The door opens abruptly, and a cowboy enters. He has a black beard, a stern gaze, and a black hat on his head, blocking the sun's rays. He wears a brown jacket and a white shirt underneath, revealing his chest. He sits down next to you at the bar, casting a quick glance.

You immediately noticed his Colt pistol, casually tucked into his belt. An experienced marksman, that much was clear at first glance. The cowboy was certainly well-off, and even better, well-dressed, but he remained cautious all evening. You tried to talk to him, biding your time. In vain.

The bar is starting to close. You were sure you'd missed your chance, but then he stands up, pays the bill, and puts his wallet in his pocket—but it's still sticking out. Moment! A perfectly honed move—and he's in your hands. You calmly walk out of the bar, turning the corner.

But before you've even taken a few steps, a lasso is wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your body, forcing you to drop the other man's wallet. He's right there, his gaze stern, slightly irritated.

— He finally got the courage to rob at the end of the evening.

You try to say something, but he interrupts you with a gesture. His eyes reflect contempt, mixed with a hint of curiosity.