Midnight Cowboy leaned against the railing of the perch above the antiquated high school gym in Nacogdoches, TX. His nostrils stung with a lingering odor of mold and moth balls. The bright moonlight shone in through a window, fractured by the criss-cross pattern on the glass. Tattered gold banners hung from the rafters. Three time state Basketball winners. Two in football. His eyes made their way down to the abused makeshift wrestling ring in the middle of the room. His hand gripped and wrung the railing as his spirits lifted with the thought of entering that ring and putting on another show the next day.

    Attendance was never good, but that was never important. No one really pointed him out as the Midnight Cowboy; it was hard to tell him from the series of doppelgangers whose behavior and appearance was nearly a mirror image of his own.

    He didn't spend a lot of time with fans after shows. The primary focus was getting better. His new aggressive style revealed an insatiable hunger that often went wasted on the locals. It was in these minimalist environments that the Cowboy renewed his love for a sport that had alienated him in the recent past.

    He yawned deeply and pushed his fingers in the thick brush on his cheeks. He turned around and looked at his makeshift room. An army-issue cot covered in a hurricane of bed sheets was accompanied by a small lamb and end table. An oscillating fan pushed the hot air in vain.

    The squeak of a loose wheel caused him to turn around. A long shadow cast across the floor as a door opened and a triangle of light widened into the room.

    'Is that you, Skeeter?'

     'Yes, Mr. Braley--' The janitor pushed a trash can on wheels into the room. He was an old white man, his back hunched and his snowy thin hair combed over his prominent bald scalp. 'Or should I say, Mr. Midnight Cowboy--'

     'You best keep that a secret, now,' Midnight Cowboy warned from his perch. 'I know nev'r drink with y' agin...'

    'Alright alright,' the janitor said as he reached down and picked up some hand-bills which he tossed in his large trash barrel. 'I still don't know how someone from the FWO ends up living in a high school gym...'

     'I'm gon' make believe I didn't hear that!' Midnight Cowboy yelled flatly as he walked across his room and laid down on his cot, which buckled slightly and squeaked beneath his weight. He turned on his side and looked at the gigantic, milky crescent outside his window. At once he considered the comment, then rolled over and went to sleep.

     'I'll be done in just a minute, Olivre,' Skeeter said. 'Sorry I came so late; it was my grandson's birthday and--' Low, hollow snoring came from above, tapping the walls in a quiet echo. Skeeter shook his head and smiled and produced a broom, sweeping the chipped wood floor beneath him.

     *

    'Hi, Pro Wrestling Insider? My name is Skeeter Wilkins. Now, I don't read your magazine but I saw it laying out while I was pickin' up. I'm a janitor, you see.' Skeeter explained quietly into the phone. He looked back into the gym and paused to listen to the snoring in the next room. 'Now I don't want any reward or money for this, but I know someone round these parts you might like to talk to...'