Bert Territory, Bert City.
Smith Tavern, having seen off the last guest, began to close up as the owners started their end-of-day routine.
The bartender, Mrs. Smith, was a slender, not short woman, adeptly tying her hair back into a ponytail, revealing her broad forehead.
"Smith, set the chairs right, and after wiping the tables, come upstairs quickly—I think my brewed fruit wine is ready for a taste test."
Confronted with his wife's call, Mr. Smith, who was busy, stiffened.
Unlike his wife's slender build, Mr. Smith was both tall and fat, his thick arms and broad shoulders enough to intimidate anyone.
In fact, when Smith Tavern first opened, the local thugs had learned the hard taste of being knocked out cold with his punch.
After Mr. Smith managed to fight off ten by himself, Smith Tavern became quite peaceful.
Yet, even the formidable Mr. Smith felt a twinge in his lower back at his wife's insinuation.
Was it about the fruit wine?
It was about making me kneel!
