It Turns Out This Town Is Exactly The Right Size For The Two Of Us.

“Well, well! Black Bart, just coming out of the 5th National Bank, hands full of bags of money and your trusty old revolver! Isn’t it lucky that I just arrived here in time, on this dusty old street, ready to have a shootout with you after first talking a bit.”

“What the… Sheriff Hickock? How’d you find out ‘bout the robbery, and why are you talking so descriptively?”

“Simple, Bart! Miss Louise, who you’ll see over there ready to faint should I pull out my own trusty revolver and hunch down a bit, pulling on the trigger as rapidly as I can fan my hand over the hammer and cause it to reload again, all to shoot you and your gang of dastardly villains before you can terrorize this small hamlet any further, had overheard your plans to rob the bank when you were talking about them last night at the saloon, which is that picturesque wooden building just off to the left there, where the town drunk, Barney, has just staggered up to the door so he’s ready to haphazardly wander through this scene just as I’m about to shoot you, giving you one final chance to escape.”

“I don’t… what is this? You’re acting weird.”

“Weird would be if I were to ignore the townfolk gathered around us while I continued my speech, pointing out that there’s no way that you can escape, Bart! Even if you were to survive my dead-on shooting, and somehow get out of town, there’s a posse already forming from the farms around here. They’re tired of the cattle-rustling you’ve been doing! So you see, Bart? It doesn’t matter if you surrender or not, because one way or the other, you’re a goner. Whether I shoot you down here in the street or the posse gets you at the cave you and your gang hide out in, 2 miles out of town in the foothills of the Silver Mountains, your days are numbered.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here…”

“Let me stop you there, Bart: Here’s what’s going on. This town is not big enough for the two of us!”

“Where is that… who is clapping and cheering?”

“And you’re too dangerous to jail, so I’ll give you one chance. 10 paces, turn and fire.”

“Who is making that sound, like a bunch of people saying 'ooooooooooooh'? Are there people hiding in the buildings? This is starting to freak me out.”

“So put down the loot, Bart. Let’s settle this like men.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not going to shoot you, not in front of a town full of witnesses, and whoever keeps making those sounds. And I’m certainly not going to let you shoot me. I want a lawyer.”

“You men, his gang, standing there? Step aside. Let me and Bart handle this. Especially you, ol’ One-Eye Pete. I see you reaching for your six-shooter. This is between me and Bart.”

“This most certainly is not. Look. I surrender. Here, take the money back. I’m not going to hang for murder. Do you know what the sentence is for bank-robbery? Less than a year. And good luck trying to pin that cattle rustling charge on me. But murder? No way. Here, take my gun. I don’t want to go for it myself, because you might have snipers up in the second floors that will take that as a move to shoot you. Go on, take it.”

“Okay, then, Bart: I’m turning around and facing my back to you, and I assume that you are doing the same thing.”

“Again, what’s going on, here? Are you maybe drunk or something?”

“1, 2, 3…”

“Bill, listen to me. I’m not shooting. I’m not dueling.”

“4, 5, 6…”

“Bill, honestly, I’ve got my hands on my head. I have no interest in this.”

“7…”

“BILL! I GIVE UP!”

“8…”

“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME?!!?”

“9…”

“SOMEONESTOPHIMPLEASEIDON’TWANTTODIE!”

“10!... Oh, what the…? Come on, Bart, did you even read the script? We are supposed to turn, and try to fire, and both of our guns jam and we stare at each other for a moment and then rush forward and begin kissing!”

“Oh GOD, I’m still alive? Am I dreaming this? Have I been slipped a drug?”

“It helps subvert the paradigm of cowboy fiction! We’re toying with the reader’s notions of traditional fiction versus nontraditional sexuality! And with the hint of violence and overt references to postmodernist drama, we’re making the point that throughout history men have sublimated their sexual urges to dramatic displays of masculinity, with severe repercussions for society!”

“Am I under arrest? Can I stand up?”

“Jesus, Bart. You might have really screwed this up, and I didn’t need to be here. I had a chance to be in an essay by Elijah Wood in The New Yorker, as a greengrocer in Brooklyn who wants to make it big as a DJ, but is doing so in an artisanal way, using as background beats the sound of cars hitting potholes outside his store. But I went with this, and now I’m wondering why?”

“I don’t know what any of those things are.”

“I’d heard you were a real pro, but I’m not so sure. I’ll be in my trailer, if you care to do things right. Can someone get me a latte?”

-AND SCENE-

“What? Who said that? Where are you all going? Will someone tell me what the $(#%&# is going on?”

….

“Why is it getting so dark? Hello? Is there anyone…”