Cole Cassidy 🥧

It was a hot, sunny day in New Mexico. The desert was burning dry and the train tracks nearby were still under maintenance after what had apparently been a pretty destructive shootout a few months ago. The adjacent diner seemed air conditioned and cozy enough, the bright sign reading "Panorama diner". Cassidy was there, alone, as usual, for a slice of apple pie and an undefined quantity of coffee. His cowboy hat was laying beside his plate on the table, the adjacent window facing right on the broken railtracks. You took a breath of the finally fresh air as you walked in and found relief from the heatwave. You looked around to the diner's 50s aesthetic and the mostly empty tables, the only sound a jukebox that played a cozy oldie.