Having my nightly session on the Cowboy Game and encountered a strange moment of transient beauty as the protagonist stopped to consider a sunrise, before emptying a bottle of gin into his gullet, smacking his lips, and tossing the bottle into the puddle of owl blood at his feet.
Honestly, with the number of innocent lives this dreadful man has snuffed out through panicky chain-killings of witnesses to his minor acts of theft, he's truly red dead irredeemable. Sometimes I truly hate him
3am. The Cowboy crouches like a gargoyle on a haybale, staring with unblinking eyes at the butcher's stall where, when dawn comes, he hopes to sell pound upon gristled pound of humming owl meat
Look at this sinner, rubbing his hands at the prospect of buying a festering, bullet-ridden crow carcass 
Look at this frayed, defeated soul. Conscience like a crisp bag full of cigarette smoke, face like beef that's been left in the rain
Can't stop thinking about how the Cowboy butchered a crow. He just jammed his thumbs in its chest and cracked it open like a can of coke, before yanking out a slug of revolting meat and pushing it into the handbag where he keeps his cigars
The one thing the Cowboy Game is missing is a black silk veil, which the Cowboy can drape over his head while eating in order to conceal his abominable meals from the eyes of God
Thinking I might stream a bit of the Cowboy Game in a couple of hours, if you all want to root some toots with a boah and take a real deep dive into the Cowboy abyss
