Malida Dust

The weekend had passed, and with it the joy and promise of high adventure. So I decided that it would be best to duck down to Malida - to get loose on some dice games and drain what was ever left in my bank account.
On the drive down south we spotted a sign that said 'Historic Landmark' I had Simmons pull the LeSabre over so we could take a peek. We got out of the car and could see a small cabin down in this little valley about a mile off. There was a plaque with photographs and an explanation about how the cabin belonged to some long lost civil war hero. A famous man who defeated so-in-so at such-in-such battle. The government had left the cabin standing there as a monument to his war born glory.
We stood there in the hot sun, gobblin' on handfuls of skittles, looking at the photo of the general and his wife. Their expressionless faces alluding to a time beyond my reckoning. You could see thick sunlight rays shine across the dust filled room they sat in.
For five minute I stood and stared through it all. I couldn’t help but think how we’re not unlike that dried up old skin and dust traveling in that light - all just tiny dried up particles, so thick you could choke on them.
It was a passing feeling that I knew would fade shortly - for the promise of red eye whiskey and cheap whores lay just beyond the canyon and over the boarder lands.