Two riders, maybe outlaws- nobody knows- ride into town. Each approaching from opposite ends, horses at a canter. They slow down, six feet apart; each posturing. Silence falls on the crowd. The riders’ jaws are set -as if afflicted with lockjaw. Their attire, costumes from another era. Their stance, ambiguous -was this a gunfight in the making or something else ?
The town’s Sheriff steps forward to begin his adjuration. He stops when he notices one rider draw his pistol and fluidly begin to perform those gunslinger tricks you hear about- but never quite see. Mayhaps this is the rider’s swan song before the final battle? Even more baffling is when the other rider breaks into song. The mellisonant tone of his voice causing the women in the crowd to swoon.
“CUT!”screams the director.
The electrics come on and the set is flooded with light.
“Have you guys been at the dope again?,” he fumed.
“Take 5!” he shouted, “and get that frog out of your throat Mr Eastwood.”