A loud crack resonated through the town louder than any spring lightning storm any of them had ever heard. People stared dazed and deaf from windows or stumbled out into the dusty street dumbly.

In the very center spun a tall rectangular contraption, clouds of dust just settling around it, revealing bright red paint. When it stopped spinning, a door opened and a wild haired man stepped out.

“Hello people from this dimension!” he called and smiled.

Quentin’s cigarette fell from his fingers. The man soon was treated to drinks at the bar, so the people could figure him out. The whole town seemed to crowd the tiny establishment, eerily quiet without the piano tinkling.

“So, where I come from, things are settled by voting, and people are treated equally, men and women alike.”

Quentin’s ears perked up, though he had been lurking at his corner table pretending this man was just another new face. The man’s ideas were blasphemous.

“You have rights, from birth.”

Quentin’s gun clicked, ready.