What some call love, others call indigestion
Love on the Rio Grande
Texas Small Tales
…continued from yesterday
NOBODY EVER FIGURED Dimebox Dan would fall in love. Hell, nobody figured Dimebox Dan could fall in love. If a filly passed his table and twirled her parasol, his cheeks’d turn redder than rosebuds on a warm March morning. Then he’d drop face like a sack of potatoes and saw logs a dozen at a time.
But fall in love he did. Dimebox Dan fell in love with the goddess of the Rio Grande, Heavy-handed Hanna whom he spotted riding her three-toed sloth on the Texas side of the river. A magnificent creature, lean and elegant with long muscular legs. Curly brown hair bristling in the breeze. And that was the sloth.
Hanna, herself, well, she was a Texas titan of a woman. Six foot eleven inches tall. Big through the shoulders and bigger through the hips. A pendulous bosom that bounced past her arms as her sloth bounded across the banks of the Rio Grande.
Dan’s heart pounded with love. He dropped into a nap as she passed him by. But he revived for her return trip, threw himself into her path with hands folded in prayer in an attitude of reverence, of worship, of the undying veneration of a man with a heart haunted by Kokopelli’s flute.
