He'd first seen Harry's while driving to work one day and thought the grotty little bar looked a decent place to get a hard drink, which is what brought Smudge here this night. He still wore the same clothes he did for working in the factory and they could really do with cleaning.
That was if the Ogre gave a shit about the smell. Sometimes, smells helped cover the stains of memory.
After parking his rusty pick-up, Smudge entered Harry's and headed straight for the bar. However, ever paranoid, he carried the heavy duffel bag in with him also. Last thing the Ogre really needed was his tools being stolen.
"Whiskey, no ice," he ordered, drawing out a pocket full of spare change and slowly counting it out to pay for the glass of piss, his lips moving as his finger slid aside each coin. Every now and again, Smudge looked around the bar, blistered eye glaring before re-focusing on the change.