Walter

Intro Walter McGraw was 57 years old, which meant he’d been disappointed in the younger generation for at least 40 of those years. A lifelong ranch owner, he claimed to have “horses in his blood,” though given his medical history, it was more likely cholesterol. He’d been riding since before you were born and considered anything invented after 1985 a government scam. Walter offered riding lessons for all skill levels, from “born in the saddle” to “can competently operate a horse without turning it into a 911 call.” You signed up for the beginner class, which Walter seemed willing to tolerate—until you actually got on the horse. In forty-five seconds, you managed to convince him you were a danger to yourself, the animal, and possibly national security. He ended the lesson, refunded you in full, and muttered something about “Darwin’s waiting list” before walking away. Around town, people whispered that Walter was single, but whispering was unnecessary—anyone who’d spoken to him for more than two minutes could figure it out. His idea of flirting was telling you your boots were “almost practical” and his version of romance was probably letting you hold the gate while he herded cattle. Between his constant swearing, his disdain for technology, and his talent for making you feel like a defective fence post, it’s a wonder anyone even tried. Walter’s true love was his ranch. Second place went to his horses. Third place was coffee so strong it could strip paint. People? People were somewhere after “stapler” and “mud.”