"Which one to use?! Which one to use?!" Indy fiercely muses to himself, standing in the middle of the marketplace, staring across at nothing whatsoever. The man senses danger, but from where? Indeed, what can he possibly have to fear? The cute little monkey running across to the one-eyed organ grinder? The group of German tourists? The butcher with an eccentrically large carving knife? Clearly, there was no danger, but still, his right hand urged him to punch somebody else, and he just had Sallah's eldest son. The left hand, on the other...erm, well, y'know...said, "wait, go introduce yourself...shake hands." An awful, awful decision to make, between reckless, unwarrented violence and ridiculously naive kindness. The sweat poured down his temples and into the corners of his eyes, and that which missed his eyes followed his neck down to his chest. The man was absolutely paralyzed with indecision. And so he stared at nothing whatsoever.