Board Thread:Fun and Games/@comment-768817-20140413003759/@comment-768817-20140413062712

Charlie's Last Stop Bar sat at the edge of town. Just past that was a tall chainlink fence, with topped with barbed wire. Just past that was a grass marsh as far as the eye could see. Beige grass, as tall as the fence, thick and deep.

It was an average night at Charlie's. Doc Farahday and Pastor Boston talked philosophy. Although Boston was excommunicated from anything similar to a church, due to an unfortunate incident in Brightton, were he got in to a bicker, and shot the sheriff, dead, after sleeping with his wife. The Marshalls had got together and chased him all the way to the Wabash river, before he got away, even with a bullet in his thigh, the folks of Inndian-Town forgave him for his sins, and come to him for advice in matters of faith and spirituality.

Charlie himself was a heavy set man with gray hair, and a loud laugh. He kept a radio behind the bar, which could just barely get signals from Chicago, although they were often a little scratch. He kept it on quiet, so Jack, and Miss Valentine had to lean in to hear the stats on the dogs who were racing the 11:30, a late race with low tier dogs, but it didn't stop them from enjoying it, Charlie came over and listened, too, when he could. He would turn it up louder during the race, which usually lasted about 7 minutes, which was better then the horse races which only lasted about 3.

The other regulars did what the did, just like every night, quiet and content. ''Drinking, thinking, and betting on the Dogs. ''Letting another night slip away, painlessly, in the company of friends.