I entered the bar and was immediately reminded of that scene in Terminator. Two leather clad men to my left were leaning over a pool table. They were grimacing at myself and my counterpart in a deceptively rough, yet vague sort of way. Up front, the bartender was readjusting his hairnet in between pulling hunks of what I assumed to be ground beef out of a frayed plastic bag. The 'cooked' food in front of him resembled volcanic rock to the eye, undoubtedly providing something altogether more surprising to the palate. The walls were coated with that painfully familiar cigar smoke plus body odor equals grime. The place was relatively quiet for a dive bar, but somehow this didn't happen to add to its charm.

"Let's go.  This isn't what we are looking for.  And there's absolutely no way I'm consuming anything that could be called food here." The voice from behind me sounded like a squeal in comparison to the smoker's croaks around us.

"Sure.  Just give me five minutes."  I responded.

"Starting now?"

I didn't answer.  Instead, I walked up to the first guy I saw and pulled out the picture.  He had a raging eagle tattoo running up his arm that was offset by the American flag.  Unlikely that he wouldn't want to help me... is what I kept telling myself as he gave me an irritated glare in response.

"Have you seen this girl?"

RATE THIS BRANCH!