Clyde leans back in a bar stool; sipping from a bottle of water as he keeps an eye on the windows of the saloon-style tavern he's been hiding in. He finishes off his water, and takes a glance at the liquor cabinet behind the bar.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">"No booze... Gotta keep focused..."</span>he thinks to himself as he reaches for the jar of pickled eggs on the bar; a not-so pleasant treat he's been sustaining himself on for the past few days. He pops open the jar; the stench of vinegar stings his nostrils as he plucks one of the soft white orbs from the liquid. He cringes hard as he chews the sour delight.<br/>"If only my bike ran on booze..." He says aloud, looking at the beat up Harley Davidson with close to an empty tank, parked in front of the tavern, "I could just ride off into the sunset and out of this hell..." He chuckles at the thought, and spits the rancid taste of pickled egg onto the floor...