He had come to the worst place in the under town and the bar he had entered was run by the toughest crowd of slum lords and sludge pimps there was word of. Any other person would know better than to have entered such a place alone, but not him. He didn't care.
It didn't take long for others to notice him. As usual when a new face showed up, three or four of them surrounded the table and the shortest of them came from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. "New around these parts?"
"Just passing through. Will be on my way."
"I see." The short one said. "We have a habit here, though. You must tell us a joke. A good joke; must be a good joke or we'll all be sad." He gazed him firmly as he finished saying the words and started to approach his face closer and closer, until is was just inches away. "We don't do good deeds when we are sad." And as he said this he opened his coat just enough for the holster of his hand gun to be in plain sight.
"I think I know a joke." He said and leaned back.
The short one raised his chest back up. "Good! I'm thrilled to hear you do. Tell us a joke now, then." As he said this the three other goons slowly started to walk his direction.
"It's the one about the photographer. Do you know that one?"
"No. Tell us about it." The short one's voice wrapped over the sound of the beer bottle he was holding in his hand breaking against the counter top.
"It's being developed now," he said. "It's fucking being developed."
This post was made for Day 1517: 5 Minute Freewrite, on #Freewriters:
@mariannewest/day-1517-5-minute-freewrite-thursday-prompt-developing-now
