“Hey! You! You got glitter on my peanut shells. And you got no shoes! No Shoes, No Service, read the damn sign!”

Something hit me in the side of my head. I spun around on a floor covered in discarded shells, the remaining glitter orbiting outwards, like the rings of Saturn.

I looked down, hoping to find an unopened beer, but it was a shoe. “Put it on Angel, and we’ll hop to the bar.” Sal ordered. “I’m thirsty.”

What a spectacle, peg-legged left and peg-legged right hoping around rickety tables, knocking over chairs.

“I like your twos’ moxie.” the tender urged. “If you make it over here, I’ll mix you both a drink I’ll call a Mad Moxie. I guarantee you’ll both be wandering the desert chasing rainbows.”

Balancing each other as in a three-legged race, we grinned and wiggled forward. But Sal lost his balance, moving a table, the force lighting a matchbook used to level it out.

The fire spread rapidly, kindled by peanut shells adorned with glitter, followed by the repeated double sounds of clomp! and slap!