Just another day in the ET saloon...
A real fine morning, triumphant tales of yesteryear, conversation back and forth between the regular folks, the usual suspects throwing in their two cents. Then in walks a stranger, wearing fancy lace-up shoes, going by the name, Mr Mono - ain't from around these parts. The piano goes silent, the bartender puts downs the bourbon and the buzz subsides. With the saloon doors still swinging the stranger strikes up a cigar and starts talking. A real smooth talkin' city slicker type he is, with something on his mind...