"Morning, you big queer." Gene walked up to Sam's desk, looking him over. "Christ, you look like shit. What's the matter, are you sick again? Samantha's got a delicate constitution. Do you just want a thermometer up your ass so badly? I'm sure we could get someone to do a cavity search on you, might scratch that same urge."

There, he was ready to help. And he slapped a file down on Sam's desk. "We've got work to do, Tyler. Get your bony arse in my office."