Maxwell sat upon his 'luxurious' in a somewhat laidback manner, his legs propped up on his table, and a slight flush present on his face. In his left hand was a cup of blood red wine, and in his right, a Cuban cigar.
One of the finest in the world. It had a creamy, rich flavor, it was earthy, sweet, and also contained a spice that would announce itself once on the palate. There were quite a few on the floor. Maxwell took another puff and relaxed once more.
His tired eyes stared at the ceiling; it was unknown what he was thinking about. Perhaps he was just relishing the taste of fine wine and the best cigar, or perhaps he was thinking about the mountain of work he had to do, or something else.
