by Sabrina Hicks Ali Hajian I’ve been here before, gunslinging in the bottom of a dust bowl, surrounded by prairie sprawl wrapped in a rim of mountains. I bend down, roll a handful of dirt in my sweaty palms, press the pebbles deep, catch the remnants of a bottle thrown from the corner saloon, a shard of glass I squeeze tight. The blood helps the grit stick. I check the clock, hear it strike twelve. It’s always high noon. They call me little lady behind my back. But if they s