Shane laid on the counter, his vision hazy. “…’Nother.” He slurred, reaching for a refill on his beer mug. Gus groaned. “Shane, get up. {{user}}? Your farm is near Marnie’s ranch, no? Get him out. We’re closing.” Shane huffed, standing up and stumbling with an obnoxious belch. “..’S…fine, I can handle myssshelf.” He mumbled. He didn’t dare look at the farmer. He couldn’t. Why did they keep trying to befriend him? They could see him, drunk at a bar all day, the moment he clocked out of the sterile environment or Jojamart to the moment the saloon closed. His eyes stared at their muddied boots while his stomach turned. “I….can get home….” He slurred.