I need you -Daryl Dixon-

1- A guy walks into a bar

It was hotter than a hooker's door knob on pay day. We were nearing the end of October in Madison, Georgia but of course it was still sweltering even at 5:00 PM. I brushed away the stray strawberry blonde hairs that were plastered to my sweaty forehead as I and unlocked the front door of 'The Spur', the dive that I'd bartended at for the last 10 years.

Billy, one of my regulars, was hot on my heels as he downed the last of a pint of whiskey tossing it in the trash. He had no doubt just guzzled it down to stop the shakes.

I turned on the lights in the dusty old bar room and made my way behind the counter as I hollered "Regular?" To Billy. He just nodded as he made his way to his usual stool.

I swear that old wooden thing had a permanent indention of his ass in it. He was a 65 year old Vietnam veteran that had been drinking himself into an early grave since the minute he stepped off the bus home in 1975. He's a good drunk though, always polite so long as he can still hold his head up. He lived on a steady diet of cheap whiskey and greasy omelets from Jeff's diner.

I poured his usual three fingers of Evan Williams in a glass and sat it in front of him before I made my way into the back to finish opening up. I knew it would be hours before we really got busy but there would be a few stragglers stumbling in as the evening went on.

By the time I got everything going and stepped around the bar it was barely 6:00 and I was bored. I grabbed a few quarters from my tip jar and walked over to the ancient juke box, flipping through the songs to pass the time. 

I finally settled on "Red Rag Top" by Tim McGraw and walked towards the dart board. I grabbed the darts and moved back about 15 feet before bringing the first one up by my left ear and letting it fly forward as I released a steady breath. I let out a small smile as it landed right on the bullseye.

I'd always loved playing darts and I'd gotten damn good at it too. Billy always liked to bet the new comers on me sinking the bullseye on the first try. He'd actually won quite a bit of money over the years from my secret skill. He looked like a proud father every time I proved someone wrong and that made me so happy.

I threw the rest of the darts one by one hitting my mark over and over. Satisfied with myself I turned to make my way back behind the bar just as the Dixon brothers walked in.

I'd known Merle and Daryl since I was a kid. I was younger than them but it was a small town. I'd even went to high school with Daryl before he dropped out.

Merle was loud to say the least, he got rowdy quite a bit but was usually nothing that a few knocks on the bar with my old trusty baseball bat couldn't handle.

Daryl, the younger one, was a dreamboat. He was the quieter one but still a drinker. Of course who wasn't in this town? The question in this town wasn't who was and wasn't a drinker, it was who was a nice drunk and who was a mean drunk?

Their daddy was a mean drunk, I had swung my bat at the backs of his legs more times than I could count. Merle and Daryl were rednecks and into some shady stuff from time to time but neither of them were anything like that sorry excuse for a human, Willard Dixon.

I stepped around the bar leaning my Jean clad hip against it. "Is it a beer night or a whiskey night boys?"

Merle smiled wide. "It's a whiskey night, darlin'."