(no subject)
Joe enters the bar, out of breath and favoring his right foot a bit. There are bits of heather and twigs stuck in his poncho, and his hat is askew. He smells, if you're close enough to smell him, like cordite.
He looks longingly at the snifter on the bar, then clomps his way over to the Coke machine and gets a can, paying with whatever he has in his pockets.
He looks longingly at the snifter on the bar, then clomps his way over to the Coke machine and gets a can, paying with whatever he has in his pockets.