It wasn't the most beautiful town, nor the cleanest, but anything was better than nothing to Phillip. There were smaller signs attached to the savaged metal pathway that directed which of the makeshift streets led where and the one that stuck out to Phillip the most was the one labelled "Motel". Quickly, he tightened the straps of his backpack and rushed down the path towards the motel.

The door to the motel swung open, as Phillip closed in on it, with two people, both males, slugging one another in a form of drunken brawl. Phil stood to the side, letting the tumbleweed of action pass before getting any closer to the building, before calmly walking into the opened door.

The front area was a restaurant that smelled of burnt cigars and working ovens, stains cloaking most of the counter that chopped off the kitchen from the rest of the lounging area. There stood a bearded man behind the counter, his ripped attire resembled an old biker outfit, covered in dust from years of use, and he himself seemed to be what was making the cigarette smell fill the bar, judging by the one that stood lit in between his lips. One stool stood open between a blacked out man in only rags and a dapper man with his dusty trilby to tip off his old black suit, Phillip took the empty seat before one of those drunken brawlers came back to reclaim it.

The man in rags stunk of vomit, although after the journey Phil had he was able to cope with it.

Several bottles lay around the ragged man's head, his face in dried substance that was only assumed to be what he last ate, Phil pushed the bottles away from his side of the counter and took his seat, letting his supplies rest against the bottom of the counter. Phillip peeked to his right, noticing the dapper male having a sip from a glass, too big to be a shot, but too small to make him hit the floor, before turning to face the kitchen.

It was as expected, dirty and using scavenged Pre-War kitchen equipment hooked to a rigged system of electricity. A pile of beer glasses stacked in the sink waiting for a brave soul to scrub them and an ashtray next to the stove for the bartender, who also seemed to be the only chef. Far in the back was a shut door with a sign labelled only as "Poker Room", probably concealing a nicer back area for gambling, and to the far left of the counter was two flights of stairs, one down and the other up both labelled for rooms.