i fling open the saloon doors to Bloard. a tubmlewead of doghair rolls through. at a table sits some zak guy shouting raceistly. the room has no other patrons. from behind the bar, bloardman, taking a shot of 300-proof urine: bloards dead, he says. i step fully into the room. the saloon doors creak behind me. i tip my hat. it rips in half because its a piece of shit burger king crown. fuck that, i say, and start shooting from the hip. i dont have any guns, so i'm just spitting and pointing my fingers. bloards back, baby.