With Son saddled on Father's shoulders,
They bolster through the swinging doors.

A glass falls - shatters.
Chairs turn.
Laughter cuts short.
Conversation halts.

Silence.

A cough.

The Saloonians glare,
Challenging the joy suddenly before them.

But soon enough
Crimson drains away.

The royal violet of antagonism cedes to familial light as
Young Lad dismounts Father's shoulders and grins.
Extinguished judgement now forms appreciation;
First one, then another Saloonian mirrors the boy's wide smirk.

Father hefts up his belt buckle.
"Well. Somebody get this cowboy a drink!"
The room erupts.
Success.