Wes sat behind the bar stacking clean highball glasses on top of each other as Toby Keith blared from the jukebox in a thin, metallic whine. Wes sighed. He really needed to get that contraption fixed one of these days. Heaven help him if Toby Keith ever heard how the jukebox made him sound. Wes knew he needed to get a lot of things fixed one day. Unfortunately, one day was too far away and funds were always too low. Everglades had a faithful clientele, being a shifter bar and all, but it wasn’t busting at the seams with patrons. Enough people came to keep the doors open, but never enough to fix the place up. Still, Everglades couldn’t be that much of a dump if the people kept coming in to booze it up. Unless, of course, the booze is just that good, Wes chuckled to himself.