Spencer sat at the bar on the Majestic, a whiskey in hand as he stared at the bar’s counter. He wore a black and white tux, his hair combed and his facial hair trimmed. Spencer looked out of place around these posh folk, he usually wore something more… cowboy-like.

He didn’t know why but he felt broken at the seams, his own war within him raged like a storm in the desert.

His thoughts were paused when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Spencer turned around, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Can I help you?” He spoke, his voice low and quiet as if it was taking everything within him to not snap.