Raylan was still tired in his bones in a way that left him rough and grumpy, irritated with the cold, the lack of good coffee and warming whiskey, but he was starving. It was the hunger that had woken him up and driven him from his bed, back out into the cold that at least made him forget a little about the way his stomach was curling and gnawing in his belly.

Armed with his hat and long wool coat, holstered gun hidden away at the small of his back, Raylan headed towards and into the Community hall. He spots Heartman and his little trinkets, recalled how much the guy knew about this place, how much the guy knew he didn't know, and ambles over.

"Hey Heartman. How's shit treatin' ya?"