Under the Sad Sombrero

Juan Tew crouched on his haunches, his back braced against the outside wall of the theatre, his sombrero pulled down low in the front to shield his face from the midday sun. A bulldog trotted by on the dusty roadside. It was panting furiously, almost out of drool. Even if Juan had any water he wouldn't have offered it and the dog knew this to be true. Bulldogs were a breed that for some unknown reason made him want to chew tobacco and Juan had left that filthy habit far behind him and he resented the temptation the dog revived. He would have spit at the dog in contempt, but without the viscosity & brown weight of a good chaw, he knew he could never reach it.

This was not Juan's hometown but he wished it was. Nothing ever seemed to happen and that suited him perfectly. Juan Tew's biggest decision day to day was whether to dip his burger in ketchup...or not. Was it enough to make him appear local? He still wasn't sure. He desired to fit in and knew the sombrero wasn't helping. He had quit wearing his serape during the day and that seemed to help, although it was hard to tell. He wished with all his heart that he was Mexican. Maybe then he would know what to do.

For the first time in minutes he thought about the woman. He could feel the sadness seep down from the sombrero dampening his long blonde hair, creating teary beads of shame & sweat that rolled down his face. They rolled like slugs of quiet desperation until they inevitably slipped off his jawline onto the dusty floorboards, leaving their liquid skid trails to mark their passing. The damn dog trotted back and he unconsciously patted his breast pocket for the tin he no longer carried.
He wondered if the woman still liked to chew. He hoped she did. It made her unattractive to some men. He wondered if she had a man. Did the woman think of him?

Two kids rode up on their bicycles, stopped to read the theatre poster and pedaled away. Juan Tew wondered if he had any kids, the thought making the sadness splash down from his face. He was beginning to feel dehydrated although he knew it wasn't true.
It was the sombrero leaking, not Juan.
Many times he had tried to tell the woman this but she always laughed and spat. But never at me, Juan mused, not so much as a freckled splattering on my boots. She must have cared for me. Sure she left but she did leave me the serape. And since she took his bulldog he had saved a small fortune on tobacco.
Juan glanced around the town with it's single dirt street and falsefronted buildings and wondered what tonight's movie would. He realized he should have asked the kids on their bicycles, and it made him sad.