[Open to a dimly lit street corner at night, fog creeping across the pavement. A single street lamp flickers above. Steve Punt steps into the pool of light cast by the lamp, wearing a fedora hat and trench coat, clutching a cigarette that he never lights.] Steve Punt: (in a grizzled voice) This city's got more stories than a library with an overstock problem. It's a place where dreams come to get mugged in dark alleys. I've walked these streets long enough to know--the night is heavy with secrets, and sometimes, the truth hides just behind... [he pauses dramatically, looks around] the veil of smoke from a dame's cigarette. [A saxophone wails a melancholic tune in the background.] Steve Punt: They call me Punt. Steve Punt. I'm the kind of guy who's got an answer for everything--everything, that is, except for the curveballs life throws at ya. Like why the chicken really crossed the road, or how the cat got your tongue. [He looks down, smirks, a glimmer of self-awareness in his eye.] Funny thing, metaphors. Like clowns at a funeral, they don't always... [Suddenly, a loud, obnoxious sound interrupts. It's Hugh Dennis, honking a novelty car horn and wearing bright suspenders over a wildly patterned shirt, much out of place in the noir setting. He saunters into the light, his grin cutting through the hardboiled atmosphere.] Hugh Dennis: (cheerfully) Oh, Steve! There you are! I've been looking all over for you! What's with all the gloom and doom? Cheer up, old chap! You look like someone's stolen your favorite joke book. [He honks the horn again.] Steve Punt: [Sighs, rolling his eyes] Hugh, you're ruining the mood. Can't you see I'm in the middle of a heavy, introspective... Hugh Dennis: [Cutting him off, playfully] Introspec-what? Come off it! The only thing heavy around here is the pound cake I've got from that all-night bakery. [Pats his round belly] Care for a slice? Besides, introspection is for mirrors! Steve Punt: [Trying to regain his composure] This city is like a mirror, Hugh. It reflects the souls of all who... Hugh Dennis: [Pulls out a hand mirror and points it at Steve] Boop! There's your reflection! [Laughs] And it's telling you to lighten up! Here, let me show you how it's done. [Hugh steps into the spotlight, deliberately overdoing a noir pose.] Hugh Dennis: [Deep voice, parodying] In this city of lights... where the cats wear pajamas and the dogs play poker--trust me, they're terrible at bluffing--I'm the guy who brings the party. They call me Dennis. Hugh Dennis. When life gives you lemons, you squirt 'em in its eye and tickle it 'til it laughs! [Steve can't help but chuckle at Hugh's ridiculousness. The saxophone player, now visible, shakes his head but starts playing an upbeat jazz tune.] Steve Punt: [Admitting defeat but with a smile] Alright, Hugh. You win. But just this once, we'll do it your way. Hugh Dennis: [Beaming] That's the spirit! Now, shall we go solve the mysterious case of the missing whoopee cushion? Steve Punt: [Nods persistently] Lead the way, Detective Dennis. It seems the night has a sense of humor after all. [They walk off together, arm in arm, as the noir scene fades to a whimsical melody, punctuated by the occasional honk of Hugh's novelty horn.]