Bob Johnson strolled down the street. From behind, he didn't look like much. He stood only at 5'8 and was a bit on the portly side. He wore only a red t-shirt and jeans. But from head on, it was a different story. His clean-shaven, stern-set face and dominating blue eyes gave him an air of dominance as he strolled into the Ripe Pikings tavern.
Without even stopping to look around, he walked straight up to the unmanned counter. "Hey, I'd like to get some service here!" he called in a brooklyn accent.
"Uh... The service is right here." Barry muttered. He hated when this happened.
Bob glanced down at the migit. Barry expected him to burst into laughter, or look surprised, or just apologize and make things more awkward; but the man looked unmoved.
"I'll take a glass of water." Bob ordered, glancing with momentary disgust at the wasted body of Alphonse, who was just now regaining consciousness.