Unholy Happy Hour

The Priest

Father Michael sighed. The neon glow of the "Rusty Saddle" was about as inviting as a swarm of angry wasps. Still, duty called. A frantic parishioner had reported seeing her husband, notorious for his late-night binges, stumbling towards this very den of iniquity. He adjusted his collar, a soldier of God marching into enemy territory.

The stench of stale beer hit him the moment he pushed open the door. His eyes swept across the dimly lit room, past weathered faces bathed in the flickering screen of a jukebox. Then, it landed on his target – a man hunched over the bar, a bottle his only companion. "Harold," Father Michael began, but another figure drew his attention. A clown. A full-fledged, red-nosed, oversized-shoe-wearing clown, nursing a…was that a whiskey sour?


The Clown

Bubbles hadn't meant to end up here. The birthday party gig had gone sideways - turns out the kid was deathly afraid of clowns. One screaming child, a frantic mother, and a face full of cake later, Bubbles was in desperate need of a stiff drink. The "Rusty Saddle" had the distinct advantage of being far from any address likely to have a children's party.

The place smelled like despair and spilled dreams. Perfect. Bubbles plopped onto a wobbly stool, and the grim-faced bartender grunted in acknowledgment. His eyes widened when a priest—an honest-to-goodness priest—walked in. Bubbles almost choked on his drink. Of all the weird days, this one was taking the cake (pun absolutely intended). Then, as if the universe was playing a cosmic prank, in swaggered a cowboy. Not a Halloween costume cowboy, but the real deal: spurs, hat, and a look that could stop a stampede.


The Cowboy

Jake hated bars. Too noisy, too smelly, too likely to end in a fight. But desperate times and all that. A rustler had made off with two of his prime heifers, and rumor had it the lowlife was a regular here. Jake scanned the crowd. The clientele was exactly the type he'd expect, and there was his usual poker crew, thankfully none the worse for wear. He was turning to leave when the doors swung open, revealing a sight that stopped him dead.

First walked in a priest. Now, Jake wasn't a religious man, but seeing a man of the cloth in a place like this...well, it was unsettling. But what followed nearly made him spit out his chewing tobacco. A clown. A full-on, makeup-wearing, floppy-shoe-donning clown. Did the circus come to town and he missed it? This couldn't get any weirder...and then the priest stopped, staring not at Jake's wanted poster, but at the clown.


The Ending

The bartender, hardened by years of serving the desolate and the desperate, watched the scene unfold with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn't placing bets on whether a brawl or a miracle would happen tonight, but one thing was for sure: the next round was on the house.

WORD COUNT:
The Priest - 129 Words
The Clown - 150 Words
The Cowboy - 156 Words

PROMPT: A priest, a clown, and a cowboy walk into a bar...

WRITTEN FOR: "Three Perspectives Contest"