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Every Saturday during the summer, Big Roy Marsh made his way down from the boarding house he lived in, precariously attached to the mountain, all the way down into Telluride. It was a hellacious trip, but he owned his own mule, which made him something of a wealthy man, and he was big enough to keep her, too, which made him doubly lucky.
So on Saturdays, Roy climbed on his mule and went to town, stopping first at the livery to stable her, then going on to the barber for a shave and a bath. Roy always brought his own bread and cold meat in his saddlebags so he didn't have to eat in town, saving his money for what he truly wanted; a night at the Opera House.
Oh, the fellers laughed at big Roy, they truly did, telling him he was trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, going and getting all cultured, and that they were amazed that the fancy even let Roy in. Sometimes it amazed him, too, but he was always clean and always wore his Sunday go to meeting clothes, and his money was as good as anyone else's, wasn't it?
Sitting in the dark in the theater, watching the singers and actors and other stage folk, no one even noticed Roy with his scarred hands and his hulking shoulders, no one even cared. A man couldn't ask for more than that. He surely couldn't.