Spike's all alone when he walks into the bar; a wry smile wrung across his face, body curved in a slight slouch. It's late, he notices, but for a bar this desolate at 2:00 am, it sure isn't bad compared to the rest of the ghetto hole-in-the-walls he walked by.

He sits on a bar stool behind the sleek marble counter, right near the bartender, ordering a whiskey on the rocks and taking a nice swig before sighing... god, had it been a long day. He's tempted to light one of his Marlboros.

After a few minutes, Spike cranes his head around to the TV in the corner of the room as it flickers onto the news, listing off dozens more bounties than usual and listing off hefty prizes. Spike narrows his eyes.

"Damn," he mutters. "Looks like it's gonna be a busy week."