The Cowboy and the Guitar
Playing the Martin in East Helena... at the last show we saw the cowboy I was halfway through the first chorus of Tennessee Whiskey when the old cowboy set down his beer mug and asked his lady to dance. A few ladies at the back table whooped at the dancers getting up. A few couples from the side tables got up and joined the cowboy and his lady. The linoleum floor was scuffed with mud from all the muck boots that had traipsed across it for the past couple hours on their path from the door to the counter. Ruby Valley Brew was a little shotgun bar with a few tables up front, board and batten interior walls, a rough hewn bar guarded by a sturdy looking barmaid and a few small beer producing vats peeking out from behind the hand scrawled menu. The band crowded into the corner by the door on a floor that was sloping enough to make you put a foot backwards for balance. The drummer was close enough to the door that if someone had their hands full, he would open it betw