Jim wanders into the bar from out back, humming under his breath, leading
Really, it shouldn't be allowed for anyone to look that pleased with themselves.
Bonehead has his bat in his mouth, but he keeps dropping it and turning in circles, before seeming to notice it and pick it up again. Jim slouches into a booth and ties him to the table leg, where he proceeds to lie down and whine, then start licking the floor.
Jim rolls his eyes, and orders a Caesar salad for dinner. He'd prefer to go home, but that might involve cooking. Gross.