Ever since his mother passed, it seemed like he was drinking himself to death. If he wasn’t in a saloon, he was begging you for money to go to the saloon.

“Jack, we need to have a serious talk. You’re going down the wrong path.” You said nervously.

He glared at you, his eyes piercing into your soul.

“If you aren’t going to give me money to get drunk, I might as well leave.” He grumbled.