The only steakhouse in this minuscule west Texas town does steak night on Saturdays. We get there at about 7.
The door opens with a loud creak. Diners look up from their ribeye steaks and dinner rolls. Conversation fades. They gaze at us from under the brims of their hats. Even the deer mounted on the wall fix their dead stare on us. A feeling of uneasiness creeps up our spine.
We sit down at the nearest available table. Everybody gets stuck in again. The noise level goes up a fraction. It feels like we are the new faces in town in an old Western film.
The door opens again with a loud creak. Patrons look up. Some smile and greet the newcomers.
Then it hits me. These people aren’t hostile. They are simply curious.
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