That sucks. Yeah, it does. He nods, looks down into the mug instead of up at you. There's not a lot of whiskey in there. There's still enough in the bottle, so it's not that you're running out. You don't want him sitting here telling you his life story. That's fair enough, he supposes. It makes him sit up straighter again, swallow the rest of the whiskey as you ask him why he's here. Yeah, time's up. If he was going to get to take a break, that was it.

"Came to check on my car." He indicates the door, raises his eyebrows at you. "You might wanna find a different ride. She's on Dick's radar if any car is." A pause. You don't know who that is. "Dick Roman. Monster extraordinaire 'n top of my current hitlist."

That's all. He came to check on his car and found you. He didn't plan on finding you. He's not sure what to do with it. He raises a hand, scratches the hair at the back of his neck.

"So—what do you do? Do you hunt?"