He grunts in answer, shoulders tight in a shrug as he tugs the cinch tight with a little more force than might actually be necessary.

"It sure don't to me. 'Course, I kinda figure anybody says it makes sense to them is a liar."

How could it? Any of it? The fuckin world, the bar, luck, good or bad. The chance that comes with stepping out of his damn door in the morning.

"Anyhow, ain't like you can say anybody's gone for good from this fuckin place, considerin. It's like a one a those goddamn rotating doors."

These stirrups are already adjusted for his long legs, and he goes for the bridle.

"You been back home, or you stayin here?"