Another night. A fog drifts over the smokey lamps and torches of the Barbary Coast. Tonight the noises of the night time adventurers is muffled and subdued. Music clangs and dangles from the saloon across the street, rather than riotous brawl of fisticuff and gun. A dejected strumpet hangs from an upper story window, smoking a cigarillo. Three shifty looking fellows prowl, but they ignore Luna as she draws near Edmundo's establishment: they trail a thick set man who ambles, zig-zagging, humming to himself.
Luna enters the store to the chiming of a bell. A chinaman stands guard at the door, lithe of frame with a big hat pulled low, displaying a simple and well made belt with holstered revolvers at either hip. Unlike the last time, there is no nod of recognition from the gunslinger, only an easing of tension as they slowly return to their seat.
On this night, Edmundo is in the process of cleaning. He stands behind the counter dressed in a gorgeous raiment that would have been in vogue a decade before. With curt gesture and the exasperated pulling of side burns, he commands a pasty, hunch backed fellow who lumbers with exaggerated care, through the shelves.
"Why! Hello there!" Edmundo exclaims with evident relief.
"Er... Hello? Mister Edmundo, sir?" The hunch back stops, sounds suspicious.
"Not you! Legume! A customer has arrived!"
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