A celebration.

The street ahead of you is filled with people, all dressed in wild west gear. As you wander in, an older gentleman walks up to you, dressed in a fairly nice suit, smiling.
"Come on, friend," he says, shaking your hand vigorously. "Come out from the cold. Come and join in the celebration!"
"Not so fast," another states, firmly. A man dressed in a plain suit, wearing a pistol on either hip, steps up. You notice the star on his chest, stating "Marshall" beneath it.
"Oh, Marshall," the man who greeted you says. "Can't you just let 'im have some fun?"
"Sorry, Dwight," the Marshall says. "Gotta make sure he's not fixin' to cause no trouble."
The Marshall looks you over, then nods thoughtfully. "He looks harmless enough, though he could do with some better clothes..."
A few of the others chuckle at this. People had gathered to see the new stranger who'd waltzed into town. Nothing big taking place, most of them wandered off.
Dwight, pleased with the Marshall's approval, steps up next to you again and says, "What'd'ya say, stranger? Join the party? Have a drink with an old man and talk a bit?"