Sweetwater didn't have much of anything to say, eyes fixed on his glass of whiskey as he rocked it back and forth, watching the amber liquid lazily move with the motions. That didn't mean he wasn't listening, though. The saloon was full of loud, drunk, loose-lipped chatter, and Sweetwater had been nursing his drinks slowly so he didn't get too shitfaced to eavesdrop. It was just rumors he was after; bounties, bad people, trouble in paradise, anything to convince him to stick around a little longer or give him an idea of where he was heading next.

He would just listen to the radio, but it was a hair too loud in this place, and the host on the local radio station was about as informative as an issue of La Coiffe. Always talking in circles about this or that, like the kid didn't know what to say as soon as she was in front of the microphone. The way he understood it, she had only recently taken over Desert Star Radio because her predecessor went and got himself in trouble with the wrong crowd of people. A sad story, all too familiar in the wasteland. Some people would do anything for a single extra cap, including taking advantage of vulnerable people. Or just bullying them.

He brought the glass to his lips and took another sip, eyes scanning the bartender's collection of bottles on the back wall. What he wouldn't give for a simple bottle Sunset Sarsaparilla.