(no subject)
At the end of the bar near the back area, the Kid sits drinking what someone had called a "Smuggler's Brew"; hot enough for morning, but alcoholic enough for late nights. He's there when Bernard starts acting weird and still there when the dynamite starts piling up. Rather than running for cover when the fuse is lit, he finishes the drink and asks for another. When he gets a leg of lamb with a Mongolian fingerbowl of warm, fermented goat's milk instead, he decides it's lunchtime. As several people drag the now-limp Bernard into the back, Kid ponders taking one or two of the sticks to see what they might do to that ugly tree in the back or to the door on the other side of the lake, but decides to do some writing after his meal instead. Probably a good choice.