[Valentine and all its surrounding hovels have stood in defiance of blizzards, tornadoes, and maybe even a war or two. However, while Godfrey saw miraculous endurance, Arthur could only imagine the encroaching black smoke from the stacks of the oil refinery down the road, carried ever closer by an expanding railroad track. All the grit that pulled it through so far would face inevitable, if not outright compliant, bulldozing. The name "Valentine" might remain, but if he lived to see the place in ten years' time, Keane's and Smithfield's both would be a forgotten memory of the brick and mortar laid out over their torn remains.
Those maudlin thoughts encircle Arthur's head in the wreath of cigarette smoke he's produced while waiting, when they would be better drowned in the bottles of beer the bartender finally places before him. Before that temptation can take full hold, all heads in the saloon turn toward the new face at the door, though Arthur is the only one to do it with a smile. He plucks the cigarette from between his lips and dashes it to the floor while waving away the plumes he'd left lingering in the air around him.]
There he is. Pull up a seat. [He pats the stool next to him and snorts at Godfrey's concern.] Nah, the place needs help lookin' busy anyways.
[The sidelong glance he shoots over his shoulder at the bartender is not returned as mirthfully.]
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Those maudlin thoughts encircle Arthur's head in the wreath of cigarette smoke he's produced while waiting, when they would be better drowned in the bottles of beer the bartender finally places before him. Before that temptation can take full hold, all heads in the saloon turn toward the new face at the door, though Arthur is the only one to do it with a smile. He plucks the cigarette from between his lips and dashes it to the floor while waving away the plumes he'd left lingering in the air around him.]
There he is. Pull up a seat. [He pats the stool next to him and snorts at Godfrey's concern.] Nah, the place needs help lookin' busy anyways.
[The sidelong glance he shoots over his shoulder at the bartender is not returned as mirthfully.]