He ordered his usual drink; he sat at his usual spot, talked to his usual 'friends'. He ordered his usual second drink and his night went on in his usual saloon. He finds his usual girl, gives her the usual amount of money and has a usual night. When he wakes up, he goes to the left of his last mining spot (as usual) and hopes his usual hope, which, as usual, doesn't come true. But today, he saw something, just out the corner of his eye; something unusual. So instead of his usual long walk to his usual saloon, he goes to see this. Despite the fact he's tired and hungry he starts mining, consumed by the thing that drove him to the west, that drove everyone West; hope. And his just came true; enough gold to last him and his family a lifetime of luxury.

He walked into his usual saloon and ordered a different drink. Because he was later than usual, he sat somewhere different. He sat in someone else's usual seat. Someone else wanted their usual seat back. He was high on hope and drunk on drink and refused. Someone else drew his gun as did he but he was too slow, He was shot. Hope, the hope that was keeping him alive was the reason he was killed. A nobody who wanted to be a somebody died in vain, so close to his goal; a story that is endlessly repeated.