"Raylan." Tim looked up at the sky, a little rueful about his next words. "I need a favor."

The night around him was relatively quiet, with the exception of the muffled country music leaking through the windows. Somebody opened the door nearby. A whooping holler escaped from inside before the door swung shut again. It was all very familiar and inviting; he spent as much time drinking home alone with a book as he did in the bar. It all depended on his mood, and his mood tonight was a tad bit self-destructive. So here he was, a bit too drunk and calling on Raylan to save his ass.

It'd be fine. Raylan wasn't the worse person to owe a favor to.

"Bartender took my keys," he said by way of explanation.