"Come on, is that any way to greet a familiar face in this shit storm?"

There's no love lost, and he'd never expect there to be. Not between him and Dick's Dicks. His fingers itch for a cigarette, or something heavy to throw. He settles for playing with his lighter, resisting the urge to flick the flame to life just yet. Why his fucking cigarettes couldn't have appeared with him, he'll never know.