Casey had spent 5 years of his life attempting to find the people that had ruined his life and destroyed his family. Five whole years. He was getting older, but, he still had a hell of a kick to him. The hard part of all of this, the people he was hunting for never seemed to leave a single trace or hint of where they were. A bunch of efficient fucking murderers. How could God damn him like this? What had he done to deserve this type of treatment? It was getting late now, so, he rode his ol' reliable horse, a brown Arabian horse he called 'lovely,' into the next town to rest for the night. He was glad to see this town, like all the others, had a bar and a tavern. He needed a drink, it was one of the few ways he could cope. So, he tied Lovely, by her muzzle, to the post that was situated outside of the bar and stepped inside of the bustling bar. And so, he sat at the stool, and spoke to the barkeeper. "Lemme git uh glass uh whisky... an gist keep them goin'." He requested, in his usual southern twang.