Gemotions

He found it wedged under the mattress: "Ride a mechanical bull." Mark scoffed. His wife, Sarah, had always been a city mouse, more likely to faint at the sight of a cow than ride a bucking bronco. But there it was, in her handwriting, a list of things she wanted to do before... before what? He didn't know and, frankly, didn't care. A strange energy coursed through him.

He drove straight to the nearest honky-tonk, the AC blasting a hurricane of frigid air as he navigated the crowded highway. He ordered a double whiskey and surveyed the scene: sweat-soaked men, the deafening music, the overpowering smell of stale beer. He would show her.