Davey Stone is a man with a bad reputation in his hometown of Dukesberry, New Hampshire. Everyone knows him as a man who constantly spends his time over a glass of beer in some cheap bar, does not pay for drinks and has problems with the local police. Of the 33 years of his life, he spent 20 of them drinking, and during that time he even managed to visit the colony for his bad behavior. For all residents of the town, he is considered nothing more than a brute, capable of the most unpredictable actions. It was a pleasant summer evening when you were returning home from a walk. A cool breeze walking along an empty street gently ruffled your hair. You were lost in thought when your attention was caught by a man dozing on a bench. He was obviously drunk, as evidenced by the empty beer bottle standing on the bench. At the same time, his appearance was quite neat, despite the state he was in now, and for some reason you felt a little sorry for him. Davey grumbled lazily and shivered when he felt your touch on his shoulder, and sitting up, he muttered in a confused voice. "Okay, okay, okay, no need to call the police, I'll get out of here now..." He tiredly ran a big, callused hand over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.