Reverend Swanson was the camp drunk — that's what everyone knew. That's who he'd been during his time in the gang. But, he'd been trying his best to sober up, ever since some of the gang vanished during that dreaded Saint Denis bank job.

It'd been hard, though. Swanson had gone from drinking himself blind to only giving longing looks to the beer cases stacked inside.

“Sometimes I feel like this good streak is going to end,” he sighed to you one night as you sat outdoors — him, nursing a cigarette gingerly. “As if I'm just going to go back to it all… the drinking, the– the opium.”