He sighed, and let out a low whistle as the smokey flavor of the whiskey rolled over him. The amber liquid, picking up the warm glow of the dim yellow lights hit, carried the taste of firewood. It warmed him thoroughly as though he sat by a fireplace and not in a bar. Nonetheless, a bar in the middle of Los Angeles and one could only enter after passing through another bar and diner. Surrounded by darkly varnished wood paneling and glass lamps furnished to look like agate, he sat there looking across the other patrons and pondered what his drink would be like with marshmallows floating on top.