"That coffee was cold!"
The ceiling reverberated. Newspapers flew in a circle, split apart, and floated downward in separate sheets onto the matted rust colored carpeting.
"Don't you know it isn't polite to throw things?" said Angie.
"What isn't polite is to throw hard things, like this paperweight, at people, or windows, or other living things," said Mr. Morgan thoughtfully. "To throw something soft and harmless is not wrong, so long as it hits no one."
"Perhaps so," replied Angie, "but there are now newspapers all over my side of the office. Can you guess who's going to pick them up?"
A voice near the doorway startled her. "I am!"
The youth proceeded to collect the papers, and carted them off like he'd just found a treasure.
"He uses them to cover the mahogany table when he paints those confounded models of his," Morgan explained. Calmly he returned to his papers.
"Ms. Mark," he said without looking up, "do you think you could find me a genuinely hot cup of coffee?"
"And since when does renting three and a half rooms from you make me your housekeeper?" she queried.
"It doesn't," he replied. "I was only inquiring. I would rather buy it from you than lose the time it takes to walk to the Sun Deer."
Angie considered a moment. "If it's all the same," she said, "though it's tempting to take advantage of your lack of time and make a few dollars, I'll decline. It would be good exercise to walk, and might inspire you to heights of still more colorful and creative work."
Still looking down and still writing, with his left hand he displayed a fan of five one hundred dollar bills.
"A cup of coffee, please, Ms. Mark," he said.
"Sorry," she replied, "no deal."
Morgan looked up. A glimmer of smile played on his lips.
"I'll walk," he began, "if..."
"...if you will come with me. My treat."
Angie thought a moment. "I'll go, if..."
"If?" he frowned.
"If Toby comes with us."
"Twelve year olds don't drink coffee..." began Morgan.
"This one does!" hollered a voice down the hall. "The lady at Sun Deer puts chocolate in mine, and lots of cream!"
"He's got my creativity," Morgan muttered, straightening his desk and grabbing his hat and cane, "but he bears his late mother's affinity for chocolate."
Author's note: The story is actually about an author's struggle with himself. His reasoning mind (Angie) struggles with his passionate mind (Morgan) while his inner child (Toby) picks up the pieces and/or tries to entertain himself.