Linkletter General Store, Woodsboro, Texas.

Enfield placed the mop he had previously been using back in the storage closet behind the counter of his store. Gazing out upon the store, he waved to the child of a parent he had just assisted as they exited the store, starting up their car and heading back onto the road.

As the quiet returned, he sat down in a wooden chair behind the counter, leaning back and gazing up at the ceiling. A cool day in early January, a nice, even 60 degrees outside, and a perfect 72 within the store. A slight breeze entered from the window he had cracked open just to his right, as he gazed up at the ceiling, shelves with multitudes of items infront of him beyond the counter, as well as multiple ammunition types and knives in the counter, accessible from the back.

(Reference, Imagine more canned food, auto supplies, etc, as well as a tad less run-down looking.)

Vanessa stared at the red E flashing back at her on the dashboard of her car. If she was capable of speech she likely would be screaming her head off at the damn thing. After a few more moments she opened the door to her car and put it in neutral before pushing it to the side of the road. As she got it on the side of the road she leaned over the driver seat and pulled her P226 handgun checking to ensure it was loaded and concealing it beneath the black button up she'd decided to wear over her white tanktop.

She looked around silently sighing as she tried to find the nearest gas station. The only thing worth mentioning however seemed to be a small store nearby. Without further thought she headed towards it. However owned the store must know where she could find some gas and if she was lucky they may even sell gas themselves. As she pushed open the doors to the store she heard a ring signifying that a customer had entered. She walked up to the counter of the store but after a moment her eye was drawn to a small display of ammunition and knives. "Interesting..." She thought as she leaned over the counter to get a closer look.

As the bell he had hung over the door sang the song of its people, Enfield's eyes opened, glancing down from the ceiling as his chair swung back down so he wasn't leaning backwards still. Lifting his head and flicking his hair out of his eyes, blue eyes landed upon a woman surveying the weapons display he had set up in the counter behind bulletproof glass.

"Can I help you with anything, Miss?" The texan pushed up his glasses with his right hand, yawning slightly as he awoke from his nap, traces of sleep somewhat evident on his face before they faded. His leather-brass headphones sat around his neck, plugged into a cable leading from an adapter flush to the counter, through the floor, and into his Comet's radio in the basement, which doubled as his telephone.