It must be spring, Max thought. His eyes itched and were red and felt scratchy when he blinked; pollen must be assaulting his eyes and it made him a little irritable. He chugged down a coffee and was still thirsting for more.
"Not purgatory, that's for sure," he muttered, remembering the sheer nirvana of the experience.
"What you say, Maxy?" Frank asked. He entered the kitchenette with several stacks of papers in his hands and plopped them down on the table. It seemed to stir up the dust in the area; Max's eyes began to water up some.
"And when did you start calling me Maxy?" he barked.
"Whoa, buddy." Frank sensed the hostility in his voice. "You better lay off the coffee!"
Those where fighting words.
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