In his usual spot, by one of the windows overlooking the street, sat Copperhead, who was in a bit worse shape than earlier. Being out in the air was bad for him, actually. It stirred up his allergies. Anyway, he had a cold one at his table, an empty one at that, and was visibly shivering despite his heavy outfit.
"Hey Tyson, gemme another Colorado!" he vocalized over the music.
"Sure thing, Copperhead," replied Tyson Hellkins from behind the bar. An average-sized, muscular, and short-tempered man who was going bald despite his age of late 30's, (Dark brown hair, by the way, not red) fetched a Colorado Cool-Aid from the cooler and came over to Copperhead and sat it down in front of him.
"You alright, man?" he asked Copperhead, one of the few people who took the time to converse with him and not immediately brush him off as a prude.
"Bah, just that time-o year," Copperhead replied, picking up the beer with a trembling hand and taking a sip, "Looks like you got some new customers."
"Yeah... Hey!"
Tyson's manner went from worried to prude-ish in an instant as he stalked over to the newcomers, Copperhead shaking his head at them as if to say, 'I'm sorry' in the background.
"Welcome to the Oversight Cafe, can I get ya anything?"