The Bearded Man's lips cracked dryly as he slowly opened his sunburned mouth. The mid-day sun was beating down on him hard, and he could barely open his salt-encrusted eyes. His brain wasn't working properly -- he was sure of that -- and yet he had fleeting visions of a man with two bottles of tequila holstered at his side aggressively blowing a whistle at him while forcing him to drink the vile stuff. Sure, it was diluted with water, but what kind of place would engage in such shyster-y tactics? He remembered a bus. And crossing a border. But was he going in or out of the country? Was it all just a weird, petrifying dream? Neon lights. Dimly lit, blacklight powered, rundown bars. Before the wheels in his head could start turning faster than if they were powered by a severely injured pet mouse, a bucket of ice cold water SPLASHED on his face. His eyes were open now, and there she was, a sight to behold. He was saved, in the middle of a desert near Tijuana. He spent the rest of that morning in love with Lisa May. If it wasn't for her and Addal, he might never have made it out of one of the more bizarre and perilous adventures of his life.