That's one way to stop traffic (Greg, casual)

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Writer’s block was a nightmare.

Not because he had no ideas or no inspiration, but because the words just came out wrong and that was not acceptable. These were his thoughts. They had to be right. They had to capture every detail bouncing around in his skull or else they wouldn’t be real. No, they’d be something else entirely, and that was the most frustrating part of all. He was an expert on things not being real and knowing they weren’t terrified him to no end. What was the world coming to when you could befriend people who never even existed? So that was why things had to be perfect, why all the detail had to be there, and why Sunny was spending his mid-morning lying in the middle of Park Avenue, holding up long lines of irritated travelers.

Why exactly was he lying in the road? Oh, that was a great question. It was because Raul was a jerk who wouldn’t cooperate.

Raul, a character in his latest book, was a love-sick protester in Brazil. His fiancée, Mia, was currently being detained by the authorities for helping out her ex-lover – none other than ex-Naval Commander James Harrow, star of his best selling series ‘No Rest for the Retired’. Harrow was thwarting gun runners out of South America who were hell bent on doing evil things to good people and it was all very complicated, but the thing was practically writing itself. Well, it was until Raul refused to paint the picture right. The man was in love! He was willing to die to free Mia! So what do love sick fools do when they’re trying to make a point?

Yes, they lay in the road and bring traffic to a halt.

Now, he understood what Raul was doing and where his part would go, but it was the people in the traffic jam and the spectators on the side of the road that his imagination wasn’t capturing. Camera phones were making those picture taking noises, people were commenting as they stood to watch, and he never would have imagined some of the things he was hearing over the constant, irritated car horns blaring.

“Hey! Get out of the road, you...”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing...?”

“Someone call the cops!”

“Better yet – someone call Bellevue!”

It was all great stuff he’d have to get translated into Spanish later. For now, the genuine reactions he was getting were fantastic. He closed his eyes and held up his hands to conduct the noises around him. Oh, that upped the profanity...interesting. He knew his voice recorder was capturing all of the sounds around him, which only caused Sunny to drift further into the story...

...The idiot was actually laying in the street. Harrow couldn’t help but be torn between head slapping himself and throwing something at the ever-loving fool. Had he been the first car in the road, he would have run Raul over by now. As it was, the drivers were honking their horns madly, flailing their fists out the windows in hopes that they could get the jerk moving. Raul was laying in the street, his teeth clenched, eyes determinedly open and staring up at the building the beautiful Amelia – Mia – Salvatore was being held in. It was already a hassle to think up a way to get her out without having to save her lover from his own stupidity.

He was getting too old for this...

Sunny smiled to himself, barely feeling the shadow cast over his face right then. So someone had finally come to talk to him...yes, Harrow would do that. He would walk into the street and haul Raul up to his feet and glare at him. No words needed. He’d just give him a look and he’d be so dumbstruck he’d go along with it so they could come up with a real plan to get Mia out of custody...

Things were flowing in his brain, the picture unfolding for him in ways he hadn’t imagined. Oh yes, this was going to be one productive day when he got back to his computer.

Cracking an eye open, he spied the man looking down at him. Not quite Harrow, but he was an older guy, so that helped the picture a bit. He looked stiff, but so did Harrow, so why not?

"How's the view from up there?" he asked, a broad grin showing off all his teeth. "Oh man, that's so funny it's cheesy! I wonder if that guy thinks it's funny...eh, he doesn't look like he's got much of a sense of humor."

He snickered to himself, tucking an arm behind his head so he'd at least be comfortable if he had to look up at whoever this was.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Gregory wasn't all that amused when he heard some idiot was blocking up traffic by actually lying in it, and yeah, his stupid coworkers were picking on him again and made him go do it. Hey, he'd been there over a year now, he really ought to stick up for himself now. Punch them or something. No, not punch them, but they and their "americanness" had way to much control of him and his "scottishness." He didn't know why they called him Scottish, presumably just to annoy him. It worked pretty damn well.

He got the scene, and there was a huge traffic jam. Greg groaned - this was going to be a tedious thing. Anyone he had as little sense as to lie in the road in New York City ought to be in the loony bin. He walked over and stood over the man, who seemed to be having a grand old time, great.

"How's the view from up there?" he grinned, a million dollar smile that made Gregory stiffen his jaw to keep from wanting to kick him. "Oh man, that's so funny it's cheesy! I wonder if that guy thinks it's funny...eh, he doesn't look like he's got much of a sense of humor." He chuckled and propped himself up. Gregory was not amused.

"You're blocking traffic, people need to get places," he said seriously, "So I suggest you get up and come with me right now if you don't want to face charges - or a bloody nose," he pointed somewhat accusingly at the what had to be tens of cars swearing at the guy in the road. He had no idea who the guy was talking about, if it was him or someone else who had no sense of humor, but Greg himself certainly didn't find this funny. He would, later, but right now he was in work-mode, where nothing was funny until later, when he could laugh about it with Dolores or Peter.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"You're blocking traffic, people need to get places. So I suggest you get up and come with me right now if you don't want to face charges - or a bloody nose."

Sunny frowned a bit. No, definitely no sense of humor. Clearly he didn’t think this boring guy up. Real people were so tedious. Look at the way he was staring down at him like he was the one causing all this mess. It was all Raul’s fault, and he was sticking with that story.

The story! Right, right...he’d almost gotten distracted by this boring guy.

“But I don’t know how it ends yet,” Sunny replied, tapping against the recorder as he looked back up at the buildings towering over him. “Raul doesn’t get a broken nose, though. Harrow doesn’t work that way. He prefers to just kick ass with his eyebrows.”

It was true. Harrow could manage to make anyone feel like they were three feet tall with those things. No, he wouldn’t break Raul’s nose. He would just give him a Harrow look and he’d follow. Sunny glanced back up at this guy, wondering how he was going to handle things. He’d already threatened arrest, so he was probably a cop. Judging by is accent, he wasn’t from around here, either...Irish. Huh. He kind of liked Irish people. He was English, technically. The family had sailed from there a while ago, ended up all over, and his dad had ended up in Hawai’i, so it was likely that he counted as English, but probably more American, or Hawaiian. Harrow was like him – English, then American by generations of Arlingtonians...

Harrow...he kept getting distracted!

...Harrow narrowed his eyes at Raul, breaking his cover by walking into the road. Raul looked stunned for a long moment, letting that glare seep into him. When Harrow reached down a hand to him, he was powerless to resist, letting the other man drag him to his feet. Harrow’s grip became iron as he drug Raul through the crowd to cheers. They had a lot of talking to do...

Yeah, that’d work. End chapter.

He glanced up at the guy standing over him, a bit surprised that he was still there and it didn’t look like he’d gained a sense of humor in the last two minutes.

“So, where do we go from here, Irish?” Sunny asked, more musing to himself than to the guy above him. “You going to arrest me or break my nose?”

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The guy didn't seem very happy and Lestrade, and said in a horribly off-put manner, “But I don’t know how it ends yet." This guy had to be insane, Greg thought. Fucking insane. He was lying in the middle of the road, making no sense, and had a tape recorder. That especially pissed Greg off. He resisted the urge to groan, now; this is why he hated psych. “Raul doesn’t get a broken nose, though. Harrow doesn’t work that way. He prefers to just kick ass with his eyebrows," the guy continued, though Greg wasn't really listening anymore (those names sounded familiar, but no, he knew a lot of people).

"Get up,"[/b] Gregory repeated crossly. He didn't like being out here, it was cold. The roads were clear, but he could hardly understand how the guy bellow him would want to submit himself to the road in this season especially - or ever, really.

“So, where do we go from here, Irish?” the guy suddenly said again, and Gregory raised an eyebrow, not sure whether to be amused or offended or what. He settled on nothing - amusement was for later, after all. “You going to arrest me or break my nose?”

"Well, no,"[/b] Gregory said dully, though the word rang minimally thoughtful - he'd like to do that. "Rather, the people you're holding up will break your nose if you don't get up in ten seconds, and I'm arresting you either way. So it's probably in your best inertness to just move, now."[/b] Gregory didn't feel like getting rough with this guy; he really didn't like getting rough with anyone, as far as physically went, but if he had to, he would do. And possibly break a nose while he was at it.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

“Get up.”

Well, now the guy sounded cross. Oh, he was far too easy. He could have fun with this one. He really didn’t have a great disposition for dealing with people, this cop. Instead, he just answered his question without any reassurance.

"Well, no, rather, the people you're holding up will break your nose if you don't get up in ten seconds, and I'm arresting you either way. So it's probably in your best inertness to just move, now."

Sunny glanced over at the people the guy gestured at. Well, he could see they didn’t look happy. He didn’t see why they should be upset, though. He’d saved them from being bored at work or wherever they were going. New York certainly didn’t run like Hawai’i. Island time was...much better. He glanced back at the cop, suddenly very certain that this would end with him in a holding cell.

“I suppose I did break the law, huh?”

Well, he couldn’t see where this was an actual law, but he had certainly broken the social conventions. He’d been prepared for that. Arrest, though...well, it could have been worse. Raul would have been executed for this stunt...

Hmm, plot twist...

No. As much as he didn’t like Raul, he wasn’t done in the story yet. He’d let him live, for now, but it was always something to keep in mind for later.
Sighing a bit, he looked back up at the cop. He still looked less than impressed. Well, he supposed they’d have to get on with it, so now was as good of a time as any.

“Before we do anything hasty, I’m supposed to give you this.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out one of the many cards his publisher had given him and held it up for the cop to take. Essentially the front had the publisher’s information on it, but the back said ‘If you find/arrest/have to medicate this man, please call my private line at...’ and so on. It did come in handy, especially since he didn’t carry ID.

That being done, Sunny decided to do what he always did best – push the limits.

“Do you have a badge? I wonder why they call them badges. I bet it has something to do with Badgers. What do you think, Irish?”

Well, now he was actually curious. He’d have to get Thursday on it...if she ever found him. She was exceptionally bad at keeping up with him. He’d lost her back on 67th or 68th...

“Or maybe you have a bat signal we can find Thursday with. She’s Asian, so I lose her a lot,” he looked around to make sure no one was Asian in the vicinity before continuing in a loud whisper. “It’s because they’re all short, except for the giant one who plays basketball. Man, is he ever tall. I wonder what his parents fed him growing up. Probably magic beans...”

He laughed at the thought, picturing some Jack and the Beanstalk beans growing in the guy and making him stretch with it. Man, he should write children’s books...or not. Always have many windows of opportunity, after all.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“I suppose I did break the law, huh?”[/]b

What the fuck? What kind of obvious question was that. "Yes," Greg confirmed anyway, wondering how stupid this guy was. Now that Greg was staring so seriously at him, he did look a little... familiar. But in NYC, everyone did.

“Before we do anything hasty, I’m supposed to give you this," said the man, and Greg impatiently took the card that was handed to him.

‘If you find/arrest/have to medicate this man, please call my private line at...’ Greg stopped reading, just stared at the card memorizing the picture of the numbers and then look back down at the other, so, so confused. And so very annoyed. This was just bothersome.

“Do you have a badge? I wonder why they call them badges. I bet it has something to do with Badgers. What do you think, Irish?" Greg ignored him, still looking at the card somewhat bewildered, wondering who the hell needed this kind of thing, and tuned out the man on the ground laughing about Asians being short.

Greg interrupted him - "Look," he said sternly, and he actually meant it this time, if the guy did not get he was going to handcuff him, "I'll keep this card, just get up, now, and please get in."[/b] He motioned to his police car, fiddling with the handcuffs on his belt. "I'd rather not make more of a scene than we've already got."[/b]

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"Look, I'll keep this card, just get up, now, and please get in."

Sunny glanced over at where he was motioning to a car. It was non-descript and pretty much what one would expect a cop to drive. Even the fiddling of the handcuffs was another hint. It was a good thing he was good at reading body language. He’d ignore it, though. He wasn’t going to give in that easily. That was the beauty of free will. Sure, it had led several to call him a shit disturber, but what was the fun in living a life of conformity? Of course nothing he did was malicious in intent, but he didn't let opportunities pass him by for new experiences and reactions.

"I'd rather not make more of a scene than we've already got."

Like this.

A scene? He hadn’t seen a scene yet. Well, Sunny could change that.

“Did you know that there are meditation-techniques that are used in the orient to lower heart rates, blood pressure and reduce one’s breathing to the point where it’s led medical professionals to doubt someone is alive?”

It was true. He’d had a lot of time on his hands and he knew exactly how they did such things. In fact, he could do it on command. He was going to throw it into his next James Harrow novel. Not the one where he’s rescuing Mia, but the next in the series where he’s being held for information by someone claiming to be a cop so that they'd call the coroner and put him in a bag somewhere he could escape from unnoticed. He could use a true reaction and this was perfect timing. He might have to send this guy a thank you basket of muffins. Was there a better thank you out there? Muffins were awesome.

“I’ve learned to take it a step further and just stop my heart completely. Care to see a demonstration?”

He closed his eyes, feeling his heart slow ever so slightly with each breath. Finally, he let out a long breath, going utterly limp.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The man's only response Lestrade got to his very serious order was, “Did you know that there are meditation-techniques that are used in the orient to lower heart rates, blood pressure and reduce one’s breathing to the point where it’s led medical professionals to doubt someone is alive?”

Greg stared. What? No. No he didn't, and he didn't really care about meditation or anything like that, not right now. Didn't care, until the man continued, I’ve learned to take it a step further and just stop my heart completely. Care to see a demonstration?” and suddenly went limp like a dead man.

"What the fuck?!" Greg cried, a bit horrified, and he was sure the man had to be faking, because he had just said his little... technique or whatever it was tricked doctors, but for a second he really did get the feeling that he'd just somehow killed the guy. He didn't know what to do in this situation; there was no protocol for crazy men who faked their death in front of people for a few seconds. Well, there kind of was, but not like this.

"Get up! That's not funny!" Greg exclaimed angrily - and yes, now he was legitimately really angry, but this was crossing lines. He wanted to kick the man lying on the ground. Instead, he lent down, not bothering to check whether or not the guy was actually dead because God, the paper work that would result if he was! - and handcuffed his hands together. He pulled on the chain between the guy's wrist to pull his arms up, and with any luck the body and a man who was no longer faking dead would follow.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"What the fuck?! Get up! That's not funny!"

Sunny would beg to differ. It was hilarious. What a true reaction! He couldn't have found a getter person to help him through his plot, but he wasn’t about to speak and ruin things. Still, the cop sounded angry. He hadn’t been going for angry, but he could deal with angry. Angry was just another step up on the ladder he was climbing. He’s started with ‘minor annoyance’ and stepped up to ‘major annoyance’ before he’d hit this stage, after all. He’d gained a lot more than he’d hoped. Not only did he have the next chapter of his book, but he now had ideas for future books. Maybe his series about the ex-doctor who was a drug smuggler would be a good place to insert someone who could actually stop his heart on command, and then...

Wait, were those handcuffs?

He felt his wrists jerked sharply, metal digging into his wrists.

Yup. Handcuffs.

Sadly he’d been here before. He knew the rules.

“You should know that I’m a registered deadly weapon and I would be well within my rights to defend myself in this situation,” he informed the cop conversationally, eyes open and legs under him, hopping up and down a bit to get the blood flowing back to his legs. He always thought that was an odd occurrence. Where did the blood think it was going? It just had to flow back there when he stood up.

“But my publisher and I had this conversation.”

Oh boy did they ever. You break one hospital attendant’s arm when they get too handsey and no one ever lets you forget it. Then they pull out your military file, find some blacked out training with the SEALS and then no one trusts you. He’d never killed anyone – for the record – but not counting the attendant, he’d broken several people’s fingers, and dislocated a couple kneecaps. He’d been on good behavior since he’d left the Navy and only had to dislocate his shrink’s thumb once before they set boundaries.

“So I’ll go with Plan B,” Sunny paused to draw in a deep breath. “POLICE! HELP! POL – wait...that’s not going to get me far. THURSDAY! Move those little Asian legs and get with the pepper spraying!”

If he wanted to get away from the other man, he could have done it easily. The only hang up he would have would be unlocking the cuffs, but he was sure he could pay a degenerate to do it for him. Sticking around and waiting to see how this was going to play out would just be easier in the long run. That didn't mean that he had to look like he was making it easy on the guy.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“You should know that I’m a registered deadly weapon and I would be well within my rights to defend myself in this situation,” the guy said, finally standing up. “But my publisher and I had this conversation.”

Greg resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he was. "Yes, I know. I am arresting you under disorderly conduct. You’ve the right to stay silent and anything you say may be presented as evidence."[/color] He resisted the urge to say blah blah blah at the end. This guy was really ticking him off. It'd be much more interesting if he'd just pull a knife on Greg already.

“So I’ll go with Plan B,"

God, plan B?

“POLICE! HELP! POL – wait...that’s not going to get me far. THURSDAY! Move those little Asian legs and get with the pepper spraying!” What the fuck was wrong with this guy?! Greg pulled him forward and then pushed him towards the car.

"Get. In," he growled. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but stop it this instant, you're just making this more difficult for yourself in the long run."

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"Yes, I know. I am arresting you under disorderly conduct. You’ve the right to stay silent and anything you say may be presented as evidence."

How would he know? Maybe...no, he felt real enough. Sunny didn’t make up boring people like this guy, after all. Still, he was interesting, in a boring way. And when he finally lost his top and shoved Sunny towards the car, well, that was back bone!

"Get. In. I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but stop it this instant, you're just making this more difficult for yourself in the long run."

Sunny couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. There was a whole file on what was wrong with him. Pushing the limits with less assertive people, like this guy, was just one of many things on the list. His therapist called it some sort of anti-social disorder where his reactions to people were all screwed up because of the island, but let’s face it, he was bored and indulged. It was as simple as that.

“Are you kidding me? This is great! I’m taking notes like mad!” Well, mental notes. “Tell me something – are you the typical cop archetype? Divorced, one kid, bad relations with the ex, alcohol dependent...and Irish. Wow, you’re the Holy Grail here. How do you feel about the name Aaron?”

Because this would be a perfect addition to one of his books. Not this James Harrow novel, but if he had a friend like this boring guy, that could make for an interesting plot device in a later book...Aaron O’Aaronshield or Aaron O’Mara or something along those lines. Or maybe Sunny could stick him in Miami chasing his drug runner. Or he could be the Sgt. Schultz character, Sunny was always open to a little humor.

“Or maybe Sid. Do you like Sid?” Sid was a good cop name.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The guy actually laughed. “Are you kidding me? This is great! I’m taking notes like mad!” Greg assumed he meant mentally, for some kind of reason. Maybe he wanted a good fight. But he’d keep an eye on that. Greg ignored him and pushed him into the car. “Tell me something – are you the typical cop archetype? Divorced, one kid, bad relations with the ex, alcohol dependent...and Irish. Wow, you’re the Holy Grail here. How do you feel about the name Aaron? Or maybe Sid. Do you like Sid?”

Greg closed the door and got into the front. They needed to stop holding up traffic. It was very hard not to listen to the annoying things this guy was going on about though. He was not an archetype! He didn’t have ’bad relations with the ex’ nor was he alcohol dependant. This guy was seriously pissing him off and it was apparent when he asked the man irritably, ”What’s your name?”

He probably should have asked that sooner, but he was more preoccupied with getting this guy out of the way. He was a safety hazard. Greg turned on the car, listening carefully for signs that this guy might freak out or something. He wasn’t even supposed to be doing this! He was now absolutely going to refuse to do the guys’ jobs, even if they were kind of friendly sometimes. They wasted his time when he’d much rather being investigating something important, like a murder.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Irish got in the car, looking grumpy. Well, good. He’d much rather the guy was grumpy – it fit better into his vision for a new character. Sid Aarons. He liked that.

‘Sid was a beat cop who grew up hard on the streets of Belfast. Thanks to a spur of the moment decision to sleep with an Irish mobster’s daughter, he fled with her to the states, ending up in sunny Miami ten years later, trailing his ex and their ten year old daughter. Now a Vice cop, he chases Mike, always a step behind the doctor-turned-drug runner and manages to stay ahead of his homicidal father in law...’

Alright, so it needed some work. He was writing in the back of a cop car, so he figured he deserved a break for not having it all figured out. Maybe Sid’s in laws weren’t Irish mobsters, but rather Porto Rican! He always liked Porto Rico .He’d have to have Tuesday pack so they could go there for more research...

”What’s your name?”

He blinked at the man, scowling a little at the interruption, but he supposed he could write later, and take research now.

“My name? I have the unfortunate luck of being born to terribly dull people who weren’t creative in naming me.”

Oh, how true that was. Marlon and Liza Crusoe were boring people who studied boring things, like plants, when they weren’t busy yelling at government developers about destroying their plants. ‘blah blah blah, save the forest, blah blah blah, plants are the future, etc..’ That was all he ever heard from them. They wanted him to be a lawyer and advocate their plants. Pfft. Like he’d be able to sit and argue all day.

Well...

“Just call me Sunny. Or Barney. I liked that name before they named a children’s dinosaur the same thing.”

He leaned back in the seat, not liking having his hands cuffed behind his back like that. He couldn’t fiddle. So he started letting his kneel jiggle.

“So, Irish – where’re we going? I think I live uptown or down town or somewhere in town. But wherever you live is fine.”

Hmm, did Policemen live in the Police stations? That would be fun. He’d lived there often enough to actually judge. The booking officer had no personality, but he always gave him a jelly donut, and the cell babysitter always had a ball in his desk that he could play with as long as he didn’t throw it at people. Everyone seemed to like him, too, but the fact his Publisher liked to throw a fundraiser for the NYPD twice a year helped with that along. Oh, he was under no illusions there. Consequences didn’t sell books, after all.

“Are we there yet? Can we go to the 125? I like the coffee there.”

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“My name? I have the unfortunate luck of being born to terribly dull people who weren’t creative in naming me.” Lestrade resisted telling him to stop trying to tell a story, just answer, but he knew if he waited the guy would answer. He was just very, very stubborn. “Just call me Sunny. Or Barney. I liked that name before they named a children’s dinosaur the same thing.”

Sunny. The kind of name that was rewarded to a grinning four-year-old. Great.

He could see the man - Sunny - in his rearview mirror growing fidgety, his knee jiggling rapidly. It was only a matter of seconds before - “So, Irish – where’re we going?" More words. "I think I live uptown or down town or somewhere in town. But wherever you live is fine.”

Did this guy think he was picking him up or something? Did e not understand the concept of handcuffs and arrests? This guy was an idiot, an idiot with a big mouth and a stupid name. “Are we there yet? Can we go to the 125? I like the coffee there.”

"You do realize you're being arrested, don't you?"[/color] Gegory asked him. "I'm not bringing you on a damn date."

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"You do realize you're being arrested, don't you? I'm not bringing you on a damn date."

Sunny looked at the back of the cop’s head for a moment, wondering when the man had taken leave of his senses.

“Sorry to disappoint, Irish, but you’re really not my type. My ex-wife would tell you that, if you could find her, and if you do, tell her I want my Elvis collection back. But don’t get upset – I know a cop who’d like you well enough. He’s a nice enough guy, likes kids and dates guys. I’ll have to set you up with Detective Pan sometime.”

Peter Pan was into men, after all. Or so the Lost Boys had told him one day when he was stalking them in the park. He didn’t get it, but he was from the ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ school of thought, so he couldn’t wrap his head around the telling other people part. He didn’t care what anyone did on their own time in their own homes, but he was not buying this man dinner or holding his hand in the park. Ah, it was a brave new world after all, eh Aldus?

“And of course I realise I’ve been arrested. That’s why you got my Monopoly card.”

He liked to call it his ‘get out of jail free’ card. He presented it, got booked, and then he was out. It would be the same song and dance this time around, he was sure.

“So, like I said, I’m good going to where you live, as long as there’s good coffee. Did you know that most places with staff rooms never clean their coffee makers? That’s why they always say the coffee tastes like shit.”

Another odd fact he’d tossed into Harrow’s last novel when he’d been visiting a police station in Texas. Harrow, of course, liked his coffee any way he could get it, but his partner in crime for that novel, ex-Navy SEAL Commander Leif O’Malley, had been vocal about it. But then, Leif had grown used to his fancy cappuccino machine, so he thought all coffee was bad. Retirement made men soft. Sunny was never retiring for that reason.

“A word of advice – never buy a fancy coffee pot. It spoils you for all other blends, my friend.”

Oh, now he was rhyming. That could be fun, too, if the afternoon got slow.