Mr. R.J. Fibblesworthy

The sun rose quickly, draining the darkness from the sky and channelling the cool rivers of night to some foreign corner of the Earth.  Daybreak washed over the country side, spilling over the hills and flooding the meadows.  One by one the tiny houses were lit up, allowing the town to defrost into the slow sleepy movements of morning.  

One house in particular belonged to Mr. R. J. Fibblesworthy, the town idiot, and well known drunkard.  He had risen well before the sun, and was shouting from his window "AH HAAAA I've beaten you again, my old friend!  Yes! Here I stand in darkness to breathe in the first molecules of the day, untainted by your vile solar radiation!"  He shook his fist at the sun and slapped his large stomach as he laughed, letting it roll around his bones like the waves of a wading pool.  "Now then!  Off to the tavern for a bit of breakfast."

Fibblesworthy pushed the doors of the tavern open with one hand and stood momentarily surveying the empty room.  "Business not what is should be these days Mr. Mote?", he said gesturing to the empty chairs and tables.

"It's seven o'clock in the morning Mr. F."

"So it is my dear boy!"

"What'll it be then sir, your usual?"

"YES! Yes my dear boy, four fried toads and a gallon of your worst whiskey!"

"Mr. Fibblesworthy sir, you are the richest man in town.  You own this tavern and most of the buildings here abouts, why do you always order four fried toads and the worst whiskey when you can have anything you want?"

"Mind your business, boy! Or i'll have you skinned alive!"  Fibblesworthy became dizzy at this outburst and had to steady himself on the door frame. "Now, prepare my breakfast at once!"

...tune in next week for the stunning conclusion!