Journal Entry No. 002 – “A Shot with the Doc”

Journal Entry No. 002 – “A Shot with the Doc”

October 24th – Tombstone, Arizona. Where the whiskey is warm and the welcome isn’t.

If you’ve never sweated through a wool vest while sipping whiskey in the Arizona sun, congratulations—you’re smarter than I am.

I arrived in Tombstone on account of a broken promise, a bus that smelled like wet onions, and a rumor that Doc Holliday himself still haunted one of the saloons. Naturally, I had to see for myself. I mean, who better to drink with than a tubercular dentist-turned-gunslinger with a penchant for cards and poor decisions?

That’s my kind of man.

Ghosts, Guns, and Gambling

I wandered into Big Nose Kate’s, a fine establishment with the scent of floor cleaner, spilled bourbon, and deep, historical shame. Sat myself at the bar and ordered the nearest thing to rye they could find. The bartender poured me something brown that might’ve once been related to whiskey—distant cousins, maybe, twice removed.

Then he slid a second glass down the bar and muttered, “For your friend.”

I turned. The stool beside me was empty. But resting on the cushion was a playing card: the queen of spades, folded in half, burnt at one corner.

Doc, you dramatic bastard.

The “Conversation”

I drank both glasses, of course. Can’t let good whiskey—or haunted poker hands—go to waste. As the evening wore on, the shadows thickened. And at some point—right around the fourth pour—I swear I saw a thin, pale man lean against the bar, hat tilted low, voice like dry tobacco.

“You hold your liquor like you hold your cards… recklessly.”

I asked him if he was really Doc Holliday. He told me that depends—was I really a whiskey expert, or just some sunburnt fool with a notebook?

Fair point, ghost.

We played five hands. I lost three and a half. He told me the secret to great whiskey is to drink it before you can afford it. I asked him if death had cured his cough. He told me hell has dry air.

Today’s Whiskey: Old Overholt Straight Rye Whiskey

One of America’s oldest continually maintained whiskey brands—Doc Holliday’s alleged drink of choice.

  • Nose: Light rye spice, toasted grain, a hint of dark fruit and black pepper

  • Taste: Soft vanilla, herbal rye, with a whisper of oak and citrus peel

  • Finish: Quick but clean, like a one-liner followed by gunfire

  • Pairs best with: Loaded revolvers, lost bets, and men who say things like “I’m your huckleberry”

Final Word from the Idiot

I never saw him leave. One moment he was at the bar, staring into the glass like it owed him a debt. The next, nothing but the faint sound of shuffleboard and a breeze that smelled like ghost stories and gunpowder.

Whether he was real or not, I’ll say this: the man knew his rye.

Until next time,
—W.I.

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