The man walks up to the bar . breaking every floor board with each thundering step. He looks down at the writer and slams his fist on the bar, cracking it down the middle, “Gimme a drink!”
He comes up, shakily holding out two bottles of whiskey; which the giant snatches up, chews the glass tops off of, and drinks down as fast as the amber liquid can spill from the bottles. He throws both bottles in the air, whips out his six-shooter and fires off a round. The single bullet rips through both bottles showering the weakened author with shards that rain down.
Regretting his curiosity and repenting of his life, the writer stands on weakened legs and whimpers out, “W-w-w-would y-you like a-another drink?”
The man turns to him, fire in his eyes, then glances at the clock… “Nah, I gotta go. Wild Bill’s comin ’to town.”