#dg.starters

The words of Donna Meagle rang in her ears. Treat yourself. Not to mention Tom Haverford's echoing sentiment. She may have been watching too much Parks and Rec in her few moments of spare time, she realized, but the point was still relevant. The debt she owed was too great to rob herself of small things until it was paid off, as she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to do so. So it was fine, she could buy a new pair of jeans without feeling guilty. But that thought was quickly quashed as she flipped over a tag on what she thought looked like a fairly cheap pair of jeans.

"Son of a motherfu--"

The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them, but knowing that these mass-made pair of jeans cost more than she'd earn in a week had shocked her enough that the woman, who always refrained from cussing, just in case students were nearby, couldn't help herself.

After years of having her schedule planned out to the last minute for her, she was still trying to figure out how best to arrange her days herself without leaving herself with an excess of time on her hands. Silence had a way of bringing unwanted thoughts with it and it had become a challenge for her each weekend to find something to occupy herself with. So far, she had mostly ended up using it as an opportunity to reconnect with her home as well as explore what had changed. Maybe a part of her was hoping to take some comfort in the fact that maybe Tonopah had changed just like she had. Her walk through Downtown had come to a halt outside of a gallery, one particular piece drawing her attention. Usually art in any form left her feeling something but this time she was struggling to find even a stirring of emotion. Frown had begun to settle onto her brow as she looked at the piece, almost certain that it was herself rather than the art that was lacking.

To prove her point to herself she turned at the sound of footsteps, words leaving her lips without any form of greeting, hand lifted to motion to the piece. “What does it make you feel?” No sooner had she caught their attention her eyes were back on the painting, wondering once again if it was supposed to invoke a feeling of a void or that was simply her view.

"If you order just a beer or a shot right now I'll give it to you on the house. Two on the house if it's just these bud light bottles," he told whoever had just sat down at the bar. It was only his second day taking over and his bartender had called out on him. As much as Devon drank, he was hardly a bartender and though he was looking up as many recipes as possible, he wasn't exactly learning them all quickly. "Unless you're willing to wait like an hour for me to get a few things down," he admitted, re-arranging things behind the bar to make more sense for his brain. He wasn't going to let Beau down. "What you say?"