The bar has a stage, and the stage has an unsteady man on it. The man has a dollar bill in one hand and a gilded book in the other. He waves the dollar bill in the air and offers to buy anyone a drink who will let him share their table. He can get no takers. People know him too well and grown wise to his trick of posing as a lonely drunk man looking for some company. His book offers many stories, some atrocious, some astute, about events set in ancient times. Not so ancient as to be about cave people or tree dwellers, mind you, but of a time when desert dwellers preyed upon each other according to the gods they chose to worship. They preyed and prayed.
We still live in those times, I fear, with bombs enough to render our world barren and zealots hungering to do just that for the sake of their strange ideologies and their version of history in tales both atrocious and astute.