"Bourbon, mostly. There's a saloon closer to the center of town that has tequila." He had made quiet observations about everyone's drink of choice when they had shared meals together. Vasquez had favored tequila, Sam preferred whiskey, and Faraday pretty much drank whatever he could get his hands on.

Ah, the advantages of being sober. Most of the time.

Carefully, he adjusts the load of wood in his arms, taking off from the woods back to the paths that lead to home. Hard, smooth stones much larger than the flagstones of cities and smoother than the dusty dirt roads they were both used to.

"Goody's here." He holds the comment of knowing that means they aren't in hell. Vasquez doesn't need to hear that. No one but Goody does.