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Jesse arrived at the Sin Den a little after 18:30, and was welcomed by the usual pat-down at the door. Price you pay for wearing prison tats in "polite" society. Poor bastard at the door -- Jesse had come straight from work, and was likely smelling none-too-fresh. Guy doing the frisking was getting the worst end of the deal, that was for sure. Finally inside, his mind was next-to-switched-off. He walked to the bar, laying down a fistful of crumpled bills, and spoke to the bartender, pointing at a table in the corner furthest from the stage. "I'm gonna be over there. Let me get a beer, and just let me know when that [color=598527]**indicating the bills on the bar-top**[/color] runs out." 

He moved over to the table, not sitting so much as collapsing into the plush seat against the wall. There was a girl of some description on the stage, and a few more working the room, though he didn't take much notice. This place had air conditioning, and he could drown his life in beer in the relative comfort of the bar (till it closed) before having to make his way back to the shitty trailer he called 'home' and not sleep for another night.

There was a disturbance over by the commode. Laurents. Moons, too. His body tensed, and he instinctively reached for the .45 at the small of his back, which wasn't there. Then he remembered. This wasn't his fight anymore, was it? He was a citizen now. Didn't matter if he was Moon blood. He was straight now. Didn't matter if every cell in his body strained to act. Ached for his former life. 

He took another long pull on his beer, draining it, and signaled one of the waitresses that he was dry. Blessed black-out, fall-down drunk couldn't come fast enough. Maybe then his head would stop screaming at him...