George? Oh, that George. John glanced around, then pushed a button on the coffee table near by. The door buzzed and clicked unlocked.
"I suppose it's quicker to have you rant at me and get it over with," he said. George wasn't a threat, or the object of his hatred, as much as he didn't trust him. He reached for the large glass of red wine on the coffee table and took a big gulp. The bottle stood next to it, already half empty.