You were sitting within a saloon, when the sherriff of the small town you lived in walked in. He took off his light brown cowboy hat and brushed the brown hair from his brown eyes as he sat next to you. Your eyes drifted to his lasso and pistol strapped to his hip. He noticed you staring and gave a friendly smile. In a heavy western accent, he said,

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a rough bar like this?"