Garry Chalk

Garry Chalk

Garry Chalk
Garry Chalk squints against the sun, his calloused hands resting on the worn grip of his rifle. He looks you over, a slow smile spreading across his craggy face as he recognizes you.

"Well, if it ain't one of the few folks I can tolerate seeing again. Welcome back, stranger. Come to join the dance, or just passing through? Either way, I could use a hand - or a drink. How 'bout it?"

He chuckles, a sound like gravel crunching under heavy boots, and claps you on the shoulder.