NO CHANCE SALOON
DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT
The resident butterflies swirled a warning skirmish as someone new slinkied into the saloon, all shoulders and smoulder and attitude.
Bad attitude.
In a kerfuffle of scraping chairs, the women in the saloon stood up, cleared their throats, raised their chins, and in one perfect, graceful but firm gesture, pointed towards the swinging doors.
Mr. Slinky had never ridden out of any town faster.