A Horse Walks into a Bar

I got this job where I sell snow cones from a cart in a petting zoo. Parents ask if their children can take pictures with me. I neigh and nod my big horse head. After my shifts, I go into the bar, still in my getup, as this horse, and the bartender says, “Why the long face?”

“Ha, ha,” I say, and nod at him to pour me a drink.

On one of these nights after work, a cowboy walks into the bar, takes a seat next to me, and says he’ll have whatever the horse is having. At first I don’t realize he’s talking about me. I sometimes forget I’m a horse. I’m a horse, yes, but I’m also a man dressed as a horse.

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