People must do things differently on the west coast, Richard decided. In the Midwest, people at least met your eyes and shook your hand before they looked you up and down. Here, Richard couldn't help but get the feeling that he was being measured against something whenever he was introduced. At work he expected it, but on the elevator? And had this guy just flashed his gun on purpose? Still, Richard thought as he stepped into the elevator, this was probably just the bad mood making him touchy. No reason to make snap judgments about his armed neighbor, the Sergeant.
"I'm up on five," he said, his voice only slightly less genial than usual. "And the pleasure's mine. I'm Richard Wainwright. Just moved here from Chicago last week." He shifted a bag of vegetables enough to extend his hand.