Back at the car, Darrell spent a bit of time looking over the engine and the underside after the mechanic's son. Except for a couple of trips to his relatives in Virginia, he had always lived in a large city, so he felt a bit uncomfortable in the lonely heat, spurring him to find whatever it was that had them stalled. And though he'd never admit it aloud, he had heard stories about the stuff that still happens down in the Deep South to a young black man, and as he worked under the car with just jeans and a wifebeater top on, he worried a redneck might cause trouble. Still, the mechanic and his son didn't appear to mind.<br/><br/>After some time poking around, he finally stood up from the front of the car and sighed in frustration. He pulled on his tight dreadlocks as he went to the trunk to grab a better top, as the sweat and oil residue had stained up the undershirt pretty heavily. He lamented the humidity as he toweled himself off with the cleaner parts of the shirt's underside and slipped a better top on, a dark green that stood out well against his frame and mocha skin tone. Finally somewhat presentable (despite some scuffs on his jeans), he wandered to find his friends.<br/><br/>The town was small and very quiet, and Darrell couldn't help but look around as he walked on the side of the street, peeking at the windows of the stores to see if he could see the guys. When he saw the bar down the road, he knew that was the sort of spot they'd get into. He walked over to the entrance faster, stopping at the entryway and opening the door slowly. He then entered the bar, taking in the sight; he let out in his deep voice, "Hey, Alan, Sergei, you guys in here?"<br/><br/>