Cowboys & Cowgirls

A Weekend in Fargo, North Dakota

On a night like tonight, it's hard to tell if this is the only place in Fargo, North Dakota that affords weekend entertainment. Hardly able to be called a city, it would appear that all the human creatures that make Fargo their breeding ground have slinked out of their shells tonight and are standing in line, waiting to pay a cover charge to gain access into a gigantic establishment with five or six bars.

Trendy girls, with the lipstick, tiny handbags, perfume, and pointed-boots, litter the scene. They are so trendy they match every other girl who is aiming for the same look. Some girls are simply overweight, meaning it doesn't matter if they are trendy or not, nobody notices them, other than to poke a little fun behind their back, into the ear of a good buddy, or even a stranger, or a passerby who looks like he has a sense of humor.

The guys, always at a surplus, hang in groups of other guys, pointing at women, shifting their weight from one hip to the other, making certain that a buddy doesn't put a hand through their hair, taking out the gel. This might describe most of the males here, wearing their button-up shirts, and Buckle jeans. Except some purchased their pair of denim at American Eagle, or Abercrombie, or even Hollister. Some pairs are tighter than others, most have areas that are faded, like the ass, or the knees. In some spots, the denim is worn out, ranging from slight frays to massive tears.

Cowboys are present tonight. The real cowboys wear no cowboy hats. A real cowboy can be identified by the way his pair of denim is just a little too blue, and lacking wear and tear. Also, the real cowboys wear their jeans tighter than anyone else. They save the cowboy hat for home, unlike the city cowboys, who only take them out for the weekend.

As always, there is smoke. The smokers tend to be the males, the ones with ragged, weekend denim. The ones who love country music, but have never been on a farm.