There was very little about Doc that wasn't a conscious deliberate attempt. Even the way he drew away, jabbed his joke, eyes twinkling like he was on the way to playing Santa to some homeless kids. Hell, even the way he drank was a tease, a lure to those that had eyes for it.

And something about it all made Raylan want to rush through food. Grown man like him could clear a sandwich in under thirty seconds.

"I got sandwiches," he said, clearing his throat a little as lazy finger finger points towards the fridge, to follow with a few lazy steps. "Leftover soup and a microwave to get it hot. We got cheese sandwiches, one deli meat and two egg salad sandwiches. What're you hankerin' for?"