Zing.
Max leaned up against the wall. His guns were in his lap and he was smoking a cigarette. They were pinned good and he was thinking of several options. He heard the sound of a pop can being knocked over and noticed Frank. Bullets continued to fly, letting them know that the bad guys were still there.
Twing.
Frank gut crawled towards him and then, under the comfort of the barrier, sat up and joined Max.
Zing. Zing.
"Well, what do you think?" Frank questioned Max.
Max looked at Frank and blew out some smoke.
"I thought so," Frank replied. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small silver thermos. Max did a double-take.
"You want some?" Frank inquired.
Twing. Zing.
"What is it?" Max asked.
"French Vanilla," Frank replied as he poured a cup and the aroma of the flavoured coffee lifted into the air like an angel from heaven.
Zip. Zing.
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