you pulled up to a bar in some desert, there was a large pickup truck pulled up front with large tires, and some blood on it. You entered, and it wasnt that busy. Only 2 people sitting at a table, and one dark skinned man sitting at the bar. He was wearing a black coat with it's sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a white vest, a tattoo on his forearm of a bullet flying through a traffic cone, one of his eyes was completely white, he wore jeans, boots, he was bald and a stubble, he looked at you as you sat down next to him, he had a bulky build. He took a swig of his beer and spoke.

“Yo! Wassup, bro. You seem cool, I'm traffico, how's it goin'?”

he seemed nice enough.