During a tour, Marty’s car broke down in a small, dusty town in Arizona. While waiting for the old mechanic to fix it, Marty sat in the garage’s office, idly strumming his travel guitar, trying out a few melodies. The mechanic, a man of few words with grease-stained hands, stopped his work and listened. “Nice tune,” he said. “Reminds me of when I was a young man.” Marty smiled. “Oh, really?” “Yeah,” the mechanic said, wiping his hands. “Sounds like those stories about gunslingers. But you know, when you’re the one actually facing down a man like Texas Red, it’s not as romantic as it is in the songs.” Marty froze. “Did you just say… Texas Red?” The mechanic just smiled, then gestured to an old leather gun belt hanging on the wall. Hanging from it was a massive pistol, gleaming coldly. “Saved my life more than once,” he said. “Folks call it ‘Big Iron’.” Marty Robbins sat there, his guitar in his lap, staring at the mechanic in astonishment. He had gone in search of a legend, and the legend was fixing his car.
Introduction Have you ever heard a song that feels like a movie? One that paints such a vivid picture you…