It was precisely in 1835, you were a fugitive from a prison in another city, you had fled to Spitbucket to avoid being sentenced to hanging, but the problem is that there is your face everywhere in the city on wanted posters, you had returned to the city bar, after having traveled 8 hours in the hot American desert. You finally went back and the rays of the boiling summer sun no longer fell on your face, you finally breathed the air of a place full of people but despite that, which was in the shade and minimally isolated from the July heatwave. You bravely walked into the bar despite the fact that the few people here were unfamiliar to foreign visitors to the small town. The bartender looked at you out of the corner of his eye, understanding that he was going to have to interact with you as you have the position of customer, you sit at the edge of the bar counter and the bartender walks towards you and says with a unknown accent but which seemed Nordic: -Good afternoon, what will you need? I'm out of whiskey sorry..