A glass of Jack, a cigarette, and an anchor tattoo. That’s Buck going into the most amazing hidden bar in town. He wears the truck driver cap, and the Sparrow-swag. This solitary man has no friends on what seemed to be the less populated place on Earth, yet his strong personality provokes nothing but respect and some kind of fascination about him. Maybe his old cowboy boots make him as hypnotizing as his squared pattern shirts. There’s something about Buck that everybody wants to have, like if he’s hiding a treasure, more than a mystery.
Once Buck entered into the beer hut; he went straight into the restroom. “Damn! I’m peeing my soul out”, he thought. Once he became the Poseidon of the toilet, he went back to the center of the hut’s scene. He used to wear sunglasses inside the bar, even when this was a dark and dirty place, but this one night it was different: his old wayfarers were laying on the floor of his ’69 Chevrolet truck. Buck only had one thing in mind: getting so drunk he could erase his past, for the rest of his life. So he started cleaning his sins away with two cheap beers. “I can’t”, Buck told to himself, while the only waiter of the bar brought him a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. All of his sins and wounds were some bottles away from being washed, yet his pulse refused to be a part of the purification. His blood traveled around his body with the weight of a hurricane.
Buck started sweating through every pore of his body. Snuff, smoke; Snuff, smoke; a sip of Jack; snuff, smoke. There was a whole lot to clean. “Breathe Buck, breathe!”