Max entered the fast food joint and walked up to the counter. He slid a bill on the table and ordered a strawberry milkshake and an apple turnover. He brought the tray over to a corner table. It had been a long while since he had tasted the artificial flavour of strawberries.
The joint was practically empty, except for an old fellow sitting in a booth, reading a newspaper. And the high-school girl that sat by the front counter, her nose hovering over a book.
He bit into the turnover and savored the taste; it was like coming back home and discovering that Ed McMahon had been standing there waiting to give you an over-sized novelty check for the grand prize.
"Maximillianiski," a voice said. Max looked up and saw Pretty George strolling in. "Of all the fucking places to meet. Why here?"
Max held up the apple turnover. "These things are to die for!"
Pretty George shook his head as he slid into the chair opposite Max. "It's been, like, five years man. I thought you'd be dead by now. What you've been doing, man?"
Max took a sip from the milkshake, and cocked an eye at Pretty George. "It's a long story, and I will let you in on it in a while, but first let's get down to business," Max said as he pulled an enevelope from his pants pocket and laid it on the table before Pretty.
Pretty George nodded and dug into his rucksack. He pulled out a huge novel and put it on the table. He slid it over to Max. "That one's a hot commodity."
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