First Time Moses swings into a bar somewhere and orders a beer. As he stands at the bar Small Town Jesus notices him, comes across and slaps him on the back.

"Hey Moses, long time no see. Where've you been all this time?"

Moses turns to face him. There's a small cloud of dust in the air from when when Small Town had slapped him on the shoulder. First Time realises just how dusty his jacket and jeans really are, and starts dusting them off in a random manner.

"Y'know, around. Travelling. That sort of thing. Thought I'd swing back into town for a few days, catch up with my old drinkin' buddies. You seen anything of Knee High recently?"

"Little 'Zeke? Haven't seen him in a while. Poor guy did one trip too many and started seeing cockroaches on his ceiling. Next thing you know he's been carted off to State Mental. Shame, man, real shame."

Moses takes a swig from his beer. "Yeah, man. Poor old 'Zeke. Still, he had it coming to him."

They sit for a while, drinking in silence, staring at the table, then Jesus suddenly looks up.

"Hey, Moses, you got a place to stay for tonight?"

"No, man, hadn't really thought about it."

"You can stay at my place if you like. I got a spare room. Hell, you can stay as long as you like. I'm running this ice cream stall down by the station and I could do with the help. Waddaya say?"

Moses looks at Jesus. They've been friends since High School. It'd be kind of fun to stay around for a while. Just like old times. Sleeping late, spending all their spare time in Pharoah's, drinking. Then the doubts begin to hit him. One day he'd forget to fill up with ice and Jesus' stock would melt, or he'd start bitching about the rent or something like that. Moses just can't face it.

"No man. I gotta be moving on tonight. I wanna be in New Orleans by Wednesday."

Small Town looks disappointed. "Sure, man. Whatever. I just thought it'd be fun, that's all. Well, good ta see you, anyway. I gotta be getting back to my stall."

After Small Town has left, First Time sits around for a while, finishing his beer. Eventually he stands up, shifts his bag to his shoulder and walks out of the door and out of the town, and as he walks along the road he thinks "This is where I want to be". He stops for a while, and stares across the plains into the sun. Then with a deep breath he sucks the blue out of the sky, stores it in his whisky bottle, and walks off into the night.