The saloon doors flung open with a mighty smack as they collided with the crooked wooden walls. Stood there, face shadowed by his crimson hat stood a tall man with, unusually, 3 arms. The sextuplets that had been vigorously wrestling on the nearby poker table over an untied shoelace all at once clambered to their unnaturally large feet and hastily saluted this menacing figure.

I went to take a sip of my beer, as in reality this whole situation had nothing to do with me, but I was unfortunately cut short. As I raised the browned bottle to my dry lips and just before I could taste the sweet piss water, a bullet whizzed from the small gunfight taking place to my left and shattered the bottle in my hand. Without hesitation, the barman calmly slid another my way and I held my yearning hand out for it. As the bottled nectar glided effortlessly over the rugged bar, a grotesque hairy hand smacked it away with such force it phased from reality before it hit the bartenders unflinching head. An equally grotesque voice boomed from the hands equally grotesque noggin.

“Right then, tell me where the golden horse is or I swear to the 8 gods and their mothers the rooster gets it.” He slammed his fist down with such force the bar cracked in two, luckily however the bartender managed to catch the bowl of olives he’d spent the last hour preparing before they decorated the dusty floor. It wasn’t until I was about blab the location of the sacred horse to save my own skin I realised he was looking right past me. I hesitantly turned my head to see a rather elegant hen on the stool behind me, gently sipping a water on the rocks and seemingly unintimidated by the brute threatening her.

I turned back to the bartender and flicked him a gold coin. Just another day in the saloon.