Pain shoots through my nerves. I cling the back of my head. Already I can feel blood.
How smart of me to stand up directly underneath the metal sign swaying idly in the wind. I look up, cringing as I focus out the sun setting over the low rolling mountains and try to make the old sign clear: "The Mannered Bare."
Holding my head, I sigh and head back in, first for some ice and paper towl, and second, because I still haven't gotten the answer to the question that's been tumbling around my head, even before I knocked it.
Boss walks in. I pounce, "You do realize, you've named this tavern in error?"
He looks a little amused.
I continue, "You've created a name of great personification, but its nonsense. It is made up of two adjectives."
He smiles, I frown.
He looks at me for a long moment before quizzing me, "What's wrong with your head?"
I fall down.
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