Sipper Trazinotch would describe Badgison Wit Lundy as a Tall Glass of Water. But, he calls everyone and everything a tall Glass of Water, except Tall Glasses of Water. He calls those large transparent cylinders of clear liquid. Sipper is weird.

Badgison Wit Lundy sat down at the bar, Tizzy Moone was singing about the wind, and Crickson Rawley was yelling at Pellison Laut for not cleaning out his pockets. Myself? Oh, I was tending bar of course. Badgison lifted his finger to get my attention. His finger was that of a traveller, someone who’s been around the block. Maybe he came from Laughtonsdale or Meadow Town Valley, I couldn’t be sure.

“What’ll you have stranger?” I said draping my wash cloth across my left shoulder.

“The strongest stuff you’ve got,” he said with a gruff voice that only Mayor Kenton Bicksville would recognize as from a place called Europe.

“Sure,” I give him a glass of a Rusted Whiskey.

“Whatchya in town for?”

“Looking for somethin’”

“What?”

“I’ll know it when I find it.”