The main propieter stepped out of his main office and gruffed as he slammed the door behind him. He was a 6'1 foot tall man in his mid 50's. He wore his still issued olive colored shirts and camo pants. He also wore massive steel toed jet black combat boots. His facial features were extremly rough and a few scars laddened his face. He had a white eye patch over his left eye but there were hints of intense scarring underneath it. He also wore leather gloves and several dogtags were strewn across his neck. As he walked out the back room he gazed upon his bar in all of its faded glory. There were a few bikers and gang members playing pool. One of tem was falling asleep on one of the stools and drool sopping from his mouth. A few flies buzzed around and the air was brown and thick of smoke. The sad blusey country tune that hung over the bar like a foreboding storm was pleasing... at least to him. He strolled over to the bar and poured himself his own drink. "...anothe fuc*king great day in paradise* he said in a harsh breath before taking a full swig of his whiskey.