We’d only stopped in that town for the night on the way back from a rubber prehensile nipple convention in Fresno, so I had to make a special trip when I learned Doc Holliday was buried there. He’d come out to Glenwood Springs for the curative powers of the vapor caves back in the day, which turned out to be pretty stupid for a person with tuberculosis. Maybe that’s why he started in with the whole foot thing.
They have hot springs there also. One looks like a public pool with superheated water pumped in and another has tons of individual rich people’s hot tubs. Doc hides in the bottoms of each underwater and grabs people by the left big toe to freak them out.
Think of it. You’re soaking in the warm water and can’t see when something grabs you. Some people scream, thinking it’s a fish. Something creepy. It’s not though; it’s just long dead Doc Holliday.
That’s why people hate the fact that he was buried in that unmarked pauper’s grave. The monument was just placed at random in the cemetery; records of the exact spot lost long ago. Since no one can be sure where Doc is, he can slip out and right into the pools. Then it’s toe time.
God knows why though.
It’s almost as startling as that nearby restaurant in Rifle where the servers all open-carry loaded handguns. They’re waiting for Doc, planning to blow off his head when he reaches. Seems kind of poorly planned to me though.
I mean, they can’t even see the pools from all that way.
Grey Sparrow Journal 