Group Therapy, however well intentioned, wasn't a place that they'd find Raylan willingly. He'd made strides here in saying a little more than he had back home, largely in part to the fact that he felt they were ragdolls here, to be kicked and moved around like sentient marionette puppets. Trapped and forced to keep moving.

Raylan can't help but glance at the dog tags before putting his face in his cup. At least Dave got the easy way out, didn't he.

"How many more nights we gotta blunt until they stop," Raylan muttered on the topic of drinking before shaking his head and shifting away from the counter, still antsy and restless with nothing to do. "I got a feelin' our livers are in a race with Mathis but I'm not really sure that matters anymore," he replied properly, the casual cadence back in full lighthearted force despite the words coming out of his mouth.

As long as he could keep doing that, he'd be fine.