Deadwood Country

In a parallel world, where I was still with

hawk_eye

, or if I were a world traveler like

merovingian

, I would have more details for you of the self who split off from me as we made the decision to go down I-90 to Rapid City instead of 385 to Deadwood on our way to Mount Rushmore as the light faded.

That alternative self would have seen a town where little has changed since the 1880s, streets lined with saloons, a town where Wild Bill Hickok was shot in the back of the head playing poker, hand full of black aces and eights, now called the dead man’s hand, the town where Calamity Jane is buried. That alternative self would have then had 35 miles of winding mountain road to climb as the sun faded and would have got to Mount Rushmore long after dusk.

She would have had more stories to tell.