The sun was shinning through the window again when I woke, I could see the dust filling the room, the sun reflecting off of every single speck. I reached over and poured the last of the water out of the pitcher, now lukewarm and with a film of dust, to be fair, in the past week... I'd had worse. I gulped the last mouthful, before jumping to my feet. I could feel the pressure of my bladder, when had I last pissed? Still aching, but now at least able to walk, I made it over to the door of the bathroom. It was... Well used... But clean at least. The wood panelling was fading and scuffed, and the dark green wall paper was beginning to peel, but begets can't be choosers. I shuffled over, pulled myself out, and let it flow. I scratched my beard with my free hand, before yawning and stretching the free arm out brushing the dry, peeling wall with my still dry and rough fingertips. Finishing up, I washed my hands at the basin and slowly walked back into the bedroom. I noticed that a clean set of clothes had been laid over the back of a chair in the room. There was a lime green 'Mountain Dew' tshirt, my ragged black jeans, sturdy boots, a red flannel shirt and underwear. I dressed... Slowly, fumbling with buttons, my hands still trembling and unsure. I was tying my boots as I heard a board near the door creak. I looked up... There was Doc, in his Kutte. He smiled at me. "It's good to see your looking better, man... Come grab a drink" he said, that caring, yet haunted look in his eyes. I followed him through a long hallway, and through a set of saloon doors into the large bar area. There was a full sized pool table, a poker table, a renovated 50s jukebox and a scattering of chairs and tables. The bar was about 3 metres long, polished dark wood. It had 8 beer pumps, none I recognised, they looked like craft beers to me. Spirits and optics lined the wall behind, framing a large mirror. I got the first look of myself in 3 weeks, my beard was wild, my hair grown out. I could see that I had lost weight, my face looked gaunt. The bags under my eyes were dark and pronounced... I was a mess. As I stared at myself, Doc poured me a light amber beer, and passed it across to me. It was ice cold and tasted like nothing I'd tasted before. "What is this?... It's great" I asked, taking another sip. I placed the glass down onto the bar, and pulled up a stool. "It's called 'Permanent Revolution'... The clubs own brew. We get it shipped In from the charter in Connecticut." He answered, pouring one for himself before leaning onto the bar. Outside I could hear the engines roaring, same as the day before. They were getting closer, thundering din, reverberating off of the large formations that surrounded the clubhouse... For that is what I had worked out it was, and I was about to meet the men that called it home...