Killer Comet, Interlude

The local Farmington Falls watering hole. It looks like a place with more stink than square feet, and is probably poorly insulated- like maybe the first owner was a moonshine-man-with-a-little-extra-interior-wood-paneling/entrepreneur.
There are neon light signs that say "Beer," and "Whiskey," and "Light Beer." Clearly, the customers don't put no stock in fancy name-brand booze.
Everyone is quiet except two chubby, middle-aged, pink-faced women who cry at a table upon which there are two floral arrangements and photos of Shirtless Girl and Headless Dude, may their remains rest in peace.
This doesn't make sense. Did the mothers bring these things from the wake or are they having some kind of hick funeral service in Dusty's Slurps n' Burps?
Anyway, now you know what they're crying about.

Men are at the bar. Either skinny or fat, with teeth in various stages of disrepair. They sip Beer beers out of Cans. They wear those hunting caps with the ear flaps and trucker caps with pictures of trailers on them. You know. There's a smattering of denim overalls and denim jackets and sleeveless t-shirts and boots. Everywhere boots.

Man in Prominent Red T-Shirt: T'ain't right.
Man in "These colors don't run" T-shirt: T'ain't right a'tall. A mother ain't s'posed to outlive her own childs.
Man in Denim Vest: And they wernt even done in proper by a huntin accident or nothin. Some devil-worshippin', city-dwellin' meteorite.
Man in Red T: And a pervert too, I hear 'em tell. Got the FBI and the sheriff workin on it.
Man in "These colors": Yeah, workin' on it. But I been talking to Meryl at the station, and she ain't seen hide nor haar of a murderin comet.
Man in Denim Vest: Yeah, and the prom is this Friday--that's our kids this space creep is after!
Men in background: I feel helpless!
And I'm angry about it!
Yeah- mad and angry too!
Man in Denim Vest: (Stands) Those military folks, they'll wanna lock 'im up and study 'im--but you cain't stop a force a nature what never had a proper upbringing!
Men in background: You gotta kill somthin' like that!
Kill it with guns!
We've got guns!
Yeah, lotsa guns!
They go like, BANG! and buddabuddabudda!
Man in Red T: (Stands too) We'll go gitim our own dang selves! With the guns an' all!
Man in "Colors" T: (Stands and smashes beer can on forehead in expression of enthusiasm) Blaargh! LET'S GIT!
Crying Lady: Wait, Gil! He's real big and made of rocks and junk. I mean, real big. (Sniff) I cain't stand anymore sorrow, Gil.
(It doesn't matter which one's Gil. Pick your favorite.)
Gil: S'all right honey. I'll takea flamethrower too.
The Men: Yeah! We're glad to be doing something! Waiting made us feel effeminate! Let's shoot bullets out of guns!
They leave.
Crying Lady: (Shouts after them) Wait you knuckleheads! He's on fire already!
Other Crying Lady: (Puts hand on her friend's shoulder. Ruefully,) Those boys of ours.