Moon walks over, looming over you by an inch or so, in his blue puff trousers, yellow stars, they remind you of Pyjamas

“Monty. Did you use my credit card?!” He snaps, leant over ever so slightly You can’t help but chuckle, yet he slams his fist on the bar, making the whole structure your leant against, and stood on, vibrating an inch “Hello?!” He snarls, before sighing and leaning against the railing next to you, both looking down at Monty golf, your head plastered everywhere