How does this hurt anyone?

 

Orferd and Landermeade stand with their backs to the window, darning socks, discussing a series of patently false allegations unearthed by a vain crew of eminent backsliders, the likes of which have left most folks on location high and dry. From here we can see that Orferd's hair is mussed. It's clear that he just doesn't give a damn anymore. It's kind of a shame considering what he originally brought to the table. A table for one, I might add. No one's yet been willing to retrace my steps back to last night's fifth frame. Because it was then and there that I first became aware of Lucy Goddard's tendency to flub lines and then throw a tantrum in a way that only she could manage with her eyes closed.

So, what did I do? It might amuse you to know that even my most uptight relatives have sought legal representation in multiple jurisdictions adjacent to Old Tombstone, Nevada. In my capacity as Site Overseer, I trade in a set of loosely defined 'facts'. If you or anyone else knew what was good for you, I wouldn't have to stay up half the night composing my valedictory speech. In a space the size of a gampede hutch we store some smallish tubes which sometimes compromise our inviolate sanctity. By the looks of them, only one other person has taken the time to navigate a precarious, if ephemeral, enigma. And even then, we all had our doubts about the sincerity of her enthusiasm. She appeared especially guilty while in a state of deep, dreamless sleep. I know this because I was privy to her old-fashioned sense of humor. No one ever said I wouldn't amount to anything; look who's laughing now!

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