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Any fugitive outlaw story worth its weight in silver ends with our (anti) hero dying in a hail of gunfire or swinging by some corrupt sheriff’s rope. Based on the commonly accepted lore, we want our gunfighters to be brash and fearless and to burn out bright and fast. Billy the Kid was assassinated at the tender age of 21. Jesse James caught one in the back of the head at only 34. If an outlaw lived beyond the age of 40, he was probably doing it wrong.
But what if just that happend? What becomes of the outlaw that burns bright but fades slow? Does he just wait for death around each corner, becoming more paranoid and frail as the fire of youth is slowly extinguished? Does he try to assimilate into “normal” life and settle down? What does one do when his fate is not what he had thought?
Midnight at the Crossroads explores the burden of choice, the anxiety of aging, the inevitability of death. It’s an argument with itself. It’s bringing a rocking chair to a gunfight. At what point do we come to terms with our own mortality, and then, what do we do next? Do you meet the the devil in the moonlight on some deserted road, guitar case in hand? Do you howl and the moon impotently until you lose your voice? Do you lay down your guns, put on a tie, and sell used cars? At some time in your life, you will be faced with two glaring alternatives; two ugly, drunk sirens beckoning you to go one way or the other. Which one do you choose?