Rewrite the Rules

Calamity Jane 2.0: Part 48

My stomach rumbled in agreement, reminding me that I hadn't eaten a thing since the stale pastry I'd choked down earlier. "A ghost town, huh?" I echoed, a spark of excitement igniting within me. This was definitely not what I'd envisioned for our breakfast date, but sometimes, the best adventures were the unexpected ones.

"Yeah," I added, turning to address Samina's worried expression. "Don't worry, it's supposed to be a tourist attraction. Nothing too spooky, I promise."

Samina offered a hesitant smile. "As long as there aren't any rattlesnakes loose."

Just then, the sleek outline of a cluster of weathered buildings emerged on the horizon. A large, hand-painted sign proclaimed it to be "Deadwood Gulch," and a surge of adrenaline shot through me. This was going to be an interesting breakfast, to say the least.

A crooked boardwalk stretched down the "main street," lined with swinging saloon doors and false fronts advertising everything from "Sarsaparilla" to "Genuine Snake Oil Elixirs."

Pushing open the heavy oak doors of the saloon, I was greeted by a harshness of sound – boisterous laughter, lively music that twanged with a country twang, and the rhythmic clinking of glasses.

The saloon itself was a living museum of Wild West kitsch. Behind the bar, a buxom woman with fiery red hair and a smile that could melt glaciers greeted us in a thick Southern drawl.

She wore a get-up that seemed straight out of a burlesque show – a scarlet low-cut dress that clung to her curves, paired with a wide-brimmed straw hat that wouldn't look out of place at a Kentucky Derby. It was all a bit much, but undeniably charming.

Two burly men, one sporting a thick handlebar mustache and the other sporting a Stetson hat that looked like it had seen better days, emerged from a back room.

These, I presumed, were the security detail and driver Namjoon had mentioned. They exchanged curt nods with us before grabbing a table in the corner, their presence a silent reminder of the world outside this theatrical facade.

Despite the slightly surreal atmosphere, an undeniable buzz of excitement crackled in the air. This was unlike any breakfast experience I'd ever had, and a thrill shot through me.

As we settled into a worn leather booth, the redheaded waitress, her name tag proclaiming her to be "Calamity Jane 2.0," sauntered over, menus clutched in her perfectly manicured nails.

"Howdy folks, welcome to Deadwood Gulch!" she boomed in a voice that could have rivaled a foghorn. "What can I git ya this fine mornin'?"

We couldn't help but grin at her over-the-top theatrics. The menu itself was a letdown – standard breakfast fare, nothing that screamed "authentic Wild West cuisine." But somehow, it didn't matter. The ambiance, the kitschy charm of the place, had completely overshadowed the food.

"I think all are having the buffet," I declared, a smile tugging at my lips. Calamity Jane winked at me. "Good choice, darlin'. Our pancakes are bigger than a cowboy's hat!"

We went and got our food. Conversation flowed effortlessly. Daisy, ever the social butterfly, regaled us with a hilarious story about a disastrous blind date. While Samina, initially hesitant, warmed up, sharing witty anecdotes about her latest project. The eclectic surroundings seemed to spark a playful spirit in all of us, the shared experience adding a touch of whimsy to our morning.

The food in heaping portions, piled high on mismatched plates. It may not have been gourmet, but it was amazing, hearty and satisfying, and the laughter never died down throughout the meal. Daisy, ever the social media fiend, couldn't resist whipping out her phone, snapping pictures of the saloon's quirky decor and the unsuspecting patrons.