"I'm Richard, down on five," Richard replied, unfazed as he shook Max's hand firmly and then let it fall. "And the building..." The easy answer, the thoughtlessly positive endorsement of his new home, wouldn't quite come. He knew, obviously, that his experiences since moving to California were a mixture of bad luck and what was quite possibly a minor psychotic break, but on some level it was hard not to blame the building. When he let his mind wander back to Halloween, he knew that he had been convinced the building was behind his troubles during that long day. But thinking of that day was... unpleasant, to say the least. His grip on the case of beer tightened and his smile slipped before he was able to force out an answer.
"Well, I'm not a fan of the elevator, I can tell you that much," he finished lamely. "But the view's great, and I like most of the people I've met here." Some more than others, of course, but he let that go unsaid. "Have you lived here for a while?" It wasn't his best opening conversation gambit, but it seemed the right kind of question to ask. Pleasantries and small talk were the name of the game at this sort of party.
Who was this kid, anyway? Maybe they rode the same bus? The question itched at the back of his mind and Richard shifted uncomfortably, trying to forget it was there and answer it at the same time. On the one hand, it was completely possible that he might know Max from somewhere. On the other, he was starting to suspect that this feeling of deja vu that he had been encountering in the building was just another symptom of whatever mental defect he had suffered during October. A relapse was the last thing he needed.