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The door to the bar was pushed open and two dog hastily tried to squeeze themselves through the doorway at the same time. There was much huffing and tongue lolling as a fat rottweiler and gangly great dane battled for priority before exploding out onto the sidewalk and began sniffing around before making their way around the corner of the building. Apparently they knew not to do their business in front of the bar.

America would remain ignored until their business was completed.

A massive man followed with a cheery face under his snowy hair and beard. He seemed squeezed into his sleeveless faded Sturgis '95 t-shirt and was everything you'd expect of a biker between his battered black boots, belted jeans and smattering of mismatched tattoos. He whistled sharply through his teeth as the dogs drifted too far and they rounded obediently back to him.

"Afternoon.." He smiled at the pretty little thing he didn't recognize and just as the dogs seemed to notice her (swarming even) he rumbled low, "Behave yourselves.."

The dogs wriggled, sniffed and made their best attempt at licking her face which included slurping at the air when she was out of reach.

"This is Dummy," Borr leaned and scratched the tubby rottweiler's butt which made the dog pause and lean in satisfaction, "And the gawky princess there is Knucklehead."

The Great Dane's ear had flipped inside out and he moved to flip it back when Borr noticed the fallen picture. He leaned to pick it up, looking at it quizzically (he knew his own bar when he saw it), "Who is she? "

The older men then blinked, "If you don't mind me askin."

Borr's chin and jaw seemed to tighten in an approving nod and the idea. "Pretty girl, yer mom. And that's definitely The Pub.."

He offered the picture back even though she was occupied with the dogs and smiled, "Coulda been around when we bought the place."

Dummy seemed to settle a bit, like the excitement was wearing him out and the rottweiler's wide behind plopped on the pavement. Borr gave him a head scratch, "Name's Borr. I own this place."

"A pleasure Miss America," Yes his eyes actually twinkled with that one, "Nice to meet you too."

The dogs looked finished at this point, Dummy was sitting heavily on one of Borr's boots and Knucklehead was sniffing at the solitary motorcycle that rested against the side of the building. The bar itself had long, long ago been a house, then a bar, then a shitty bar and with some renovations and a fresh coat of paint it became a halfway decent place but still retained that years ingrained charm.

"You know my wife Darlene may have known your mom," he said with a sad smile, "But she passed a few years ago." Borr moved back a few feet and pulled the bar door open. The dogs, well trained, went right inside.

"You hungry? Got some real good cooks. Why don't you come in and take a rest and we can talk about it." He pointed to her album, "Maybe I can help you with your search a little. Not born here but I've been around a while."

Borr held the door for America as they entered. The dogs seemed to both go towards designated spots that were theirs though for Dummy it was sleeping in a worn floor spot by the bar itself and for Knucklehead it was a rather abused looking booth that she sat in and stared out the side window.

The bar itself had clearly been fixed up by the newer looking furnishings and upholstery in the booths, but it still had most of the original woordwork and the original bar. The decor was biker-americana, typical really, collections of town pictures, old license plates, animal heads, signed paraphenalia from the few celebrities that had ever passed through, and kitschy mass produced signs and posters that looked like they may have been hanging for years.

The right wall was the bar itself and the back of the room was a low raised platform that was clearly meant for open mic nights, poetry slams, and local band performances. There was clear area by the bathrooms with a chalk wall and dart boards- the remnants of the dart league's scores half wiped away (and team names like WE GOT BIG BALLS vs. THE PINK LADIES). A small cork board hung fliers for local events, yard sales, and local businesses as well as people seeking boarders or roommates.

Borr made his way behind the bar, an older waitress moving back out to the floor when he rejoined the room, and he patted a spot at the opposite end of two old men that were so decrepit and permanent that they seemed near melded to their bar stools (they also whistled cackling greetings at her despite Borr's sharp looks).

"Have a seat and tell me about yourself."

Borr smiled, "Did the same myself, though I guess I just wanted to travel. Got on my bike and went as soon as I could."

The big man leaned, "You want something to drink?" He knew she wasn't legal now, so no alcohol (until she got on his good list).

"Serving tables is much the same everywhere, I imagine. The basics anyway. Are you gonna move on when your truck's fixed?" A bushy brow lifted. It wasn't clear if he was fishing for true information or just looking to see if this would be a briefer arrangement than he'd like.

Borr nodded and turned his back as she talked, moving around and coming back with a bottle of root beer that he popped the cap of before handing it over.

It wasn't that he was hurting for staff with his new hires, so a limited engagement wouldn't be a bad thing. For all he knew she may end up like him, wandering until she found that place that gave her a reason to stop. Maybe this place had her reason, maybe not.

"Is your camper a reasonable distance?" If her truck was bunk, walking would be her option, especially if the camper was in one of the campgrounds by the forest.

He then laughed, "I'm not gonna have the police knocking with a poster with your face on it or anything?"