"Jackson," he introduced himself, fingers coming to the brim of his hat in greeting. He wasn't sure he'd ever met someone with six fingers, but he didn't stare.

After you'd found out your drinking pal had wings, six-fingered hands were a bit of a non-event.

"But yeah, I'm a friend of Coby's."

He didn't usually claim friendship so quickly, but the man shared his drugs. That was all Jackson needed.