[ in the back of the same truck there's a dang cowboy sitting there with his hat over his eyes, the shawl over his shoulders draped over his folded arms like a blanket. there's a steady hum of conversation over the engine, which means the truck is far from a quiet space, but he looks like he might even be asleep--until his voice suddenly pipes up from beneath the brim of the hat. ]
Now I ain't one to judge books by their covers, but I'm hopin' you're packin' some heat under there, miss.
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Now I ain't one to judge books by their covers, but I'm hopin' you're packin' some heat under there, miss.
[ he sounds, um. texan. ]