Sam reached for the handkerchief sitting on the far edge of his desk. It was already damp, but it was the only one he had and so, he wiped the thin accumulating layer of perspiration off his face. The salty water was wiped away and smeared, stinging his eyes more than it helped to alleviate his discomfort.

The man put the handkerchief back at the edge of his desk and returned to work, sorting through and organizing the various transactions and supply papers the business accumulated throughout the day. It was not a fun job, but it paid well and with the way Sam had been feeling the past few days, he needed all the money he could get for booze.

Each key stroke, each click of the mouse, it left a damp spot of sweat wherever he touched. Disgusting.

Sam was not used to the heat and humidity of Maimi and he doubted that he ever would. It was oppressive at all times of the day. Even at night, it felt as if he was being constantly misted by lukewarm water which made his skin sticky and his clothes heavy. He missed the temperate weather of Washington State.

It would get better. As a manager for the Lee Harvey Shipping Company, Sam got his own office that was fully enclosed and air conditioned. The issue was, it took about an hour for the A/C to really begin to work and he couldn't leave it on overnight due to the company's 'green' policy. Until then, he relied of his damp hanky and the occasional makeshift fan made from paper or the bill of a hat.

Outside the office, Sam could see a ship pulling in to the pier. Small tug boats pressed against its side that had spots of rust and corrosion on it from years at sea. It slowly came up to the pier where the workers on both the ship and dockside worked to get it moored. The people looked tiny next to the lumbering giant that was scheduled to haul an estimated four hundred million dollars worth of electronics to Europe. Or, better put, four hundred million stacks of paperwork for Sam to handle since the company kept track of absolutely everything for liability reasons.

Sam watched the workers for a bit longer before he eventually got back to work. He double and then triple checked everything, making sure numbers added up right or that the correct cargo was going to the right ship because a wine farmer in France didn't need two million gigabytes of ram or enough processors to run the Google search engine. Those mistakes got people fired and barred from the shipping industry entirely and Sam wanted to keep his job.

After checking the paperwork and fixing a few minor mistakes, Sam hit the print button.

The ridiculously large and heavy machine across the room came to life. The rollers rolled, the machine whirred and began to warm up and then... nothing.

"What now?" Sam sighed and slowly pushed away from his work desk that had stacks of folders that all needed to be routed by the end of the day.

His office was very bland since he had only just taken it over from the previous management. No plants, no photos, just his desk, computer and the paperwork to keep him company. He planned to remedy that later in the week.

Sam walked over to the printer and read the screen that was blinking a message up at him.

"Out of ink," he read. He then gazed around the room as if there would be ink just laying out and waiting just for this moment. No, there was no spare in cartridges. Those would be at the supply office that was across the entire port complex, about half a mile away.

Sam gazed out his single window. He could already feel the heat and the humidity. The office had only just started to become comfortable. Now he had to leave because upper management wanted to begin loading the ship with cargo by tomorrow and they needed all appropriate paperwork before then. There was no waiting until tomorrow. He had to go out into the world.

The heat hit Sam immediately and was quickly followed by the humidity. It charged into the cool office as if storming a breach in a fortress wall. He could already feel it sticking to him. By the time he had closed and locked the door, there were already dark patches under his arms. By the time he got to the John Deer Gator that was assigned to him, he had a ring of sweat around his collar. The weather had predicted a high of one hundred and two. It was high noon.

The leather seat of the two man vehicle was scorching hot, burning Sam's back when he sat down. He didn't dare touch the seat belt and drove off without it on. 

Sam went as fast as he dared to get the wind in his face, which wicked away the moisture, giving some reprieve, but only just.

Sam kept to the road where some people were walking on the side walk, coming back from lunch. A few waved, recognizing the white managerial ID card clipped to his breast. He waved back or gave a nod, but was more concerned about getting back indoors again as soon as possible.

There it was, the supply office. It was a small nub of a building attached to the side of a larger warehouse like a male angler fish. The warehouse had everything that the entire site would need from toilet paper to gasoline or even parts to enact repairs for the company's own ships.

Turning off the gator and pocketing the keys, Sam hurriedly went to the office. He burned his palm turning the door knob, but was awarded for his daring adventure with cool air from inside.

It was like stepping into heaven after an eternity in hell with all sins forgiven. Maybe not that good, but it was relief enough that Sam stood with the door closed behind him for a solid five seconds with his eyes closed before continuing on.

"Hello, how can I help you?" A friendly voice called from behind the counter.

Sam looked up to see a bright eyes and perky eared canine smiling at him. He hesitated for a moment. 

There was one thing that Sam was not used to and that was interacting with Anthros. He had grown up in a neighborhood of humans. He went to a school of humans. He went to work with humans until now.

It wasn't because Sam had purposefully avoided them due to a speciesist belief, but because of others' bigotry.

His father was a man of old America, having grown up at the tail end of the Civil Rights movement. He had made sure his only son never interacted with Anthros by 'guiding' him away at all opportunities. Sam's first job was set up by his dad, working for a family friend at a overland shipping company where Sam had gotten his start in the shipping industry. His bosses before now had all been 'family friends' and it was only after someone in high management had offered Sam a promotion and a position on the East coast did he get away from the bigotry of his father. 

Sam had only gone with it because the jobs were good. They paid well and provided benefits such as insurance. He never believed that Anthros were inherently inferior or of a lesser kind. He always told himself that. He wasn't a xenophobic speciesist. Absolutely not. Yet why was he hesitating now. He had talked to other Anthros several times before, but that had always been in groups of peers. He was alone now. Just him and the Anthro behind the desk.

The Anthro cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrow. "You okay there, mister?"

Already embarrassed, Sam coughed to clear his throat. "Do you have printer ink?"

"Sure do!" The canine Anthro exclaimed, his tail wagging behind him. He reached down to the shelves behind the counter and brought up his inventory binder. He flipped through the pages quickly until he got to the page with printer ink. "What kind of ink?"

Sam scratched the back of his head. What kind of printer was in his office? He hadn't even looked. Could he even recall the brand. "Well, damn. I'm not sure." He feared that he would have to make the daring trip back to his office and then back here.

"Don't worry," the canine waved a paw of dismissal. "You're not the first person who didn't check their printer for the right kind of ink." He crouched down and grabbed a laminated map of the port. On the map was a list of all of the printers, where they were, and what kind of cartridge the took. "Where are you coming from?"

"Uhh," Sam tried to remember that as well. The building he worked in had a designation, but he had simply remembered how to get to it from his parking space and nothing else. For someone whose job was to manage what went onto each of the cargo ships for the entire port, he had a hard time remembering smaller details. It was a quirk of his. To be straight to the point, ignoring small but sometimes vital details.

The canine chuckled and wiped his nose with the back of his paw. "You're not making this easy for me."

"I'm sorry," Sam replied. "I can look it up real fast." He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He wiped the screen that had his sweat on it on a dry portion of his green shirt. He had a full directory of buildings saved to his phone. He had gotten it in an email from the upper management and had used it only once since: to find his office when he had first arrived.

"No," the canine said and narrowed his eyes and wagged a finger at Sam. "You're... you're... you're Mr. Coven. Right? The new manager."

Sam smiled in amusement. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Well." The canine crossed his arms and stood straight up in self appreciation. "First off, you're clueless. Only new guys are clueless."

Sam nodded, not sure if he should be offended or not. He had the feeling that he was being made fun of, but lightheartedly. Sure. That was okay. Just two coworkers having a bit of fun.

"Second, you hesitated when you saw me."

Sam cursed inwardly, then said, "I didn't mean to offend you." 

"None taken," said the canine. "Not the first time I met someone who had never interacted with one of us Anthros." He said the word with a bit of an edge. Perhaps sarcasm or even genuine disfavor. 

The word had a slight stigma to it, even if it was accepted culturally. Some used it instead of the word, 'people' to differentiate humans from well... Anthros. It was a wall built by words and some of the Anthros still hated being called it, preferring a slew of less technical terms such as Primus Sapiens for the supremacist that believed humans to be the lesser species, to simply sapient, a term to be applied to human and Anthros alike to tear down the barrier. Either way, it was impossible not to offend someone. 

"I grew up kind of secluded from the real world," Sam explained, both ashamed of his parents, but willing to use them to show that he was not like that.

"I understand." The canine began to type on his computer, looking for the ink cartridge that was needed. It wasn't hard to find and before long, he had the aisle and shelf in the warehouse, but he didn't immediately take off to go get it. He was

Interested in this new manager. Then again, he was interested in most new people he met.

Sam felt a bit better now and was comfortable enough to approach the counter and rest his forearm on it. "Glad to hear it," he said. "Be a shame to piss off the guy who controls the flow of ink to my printer."

"He who controls the ink, controls the world."

"Hey," Sam laughed. "I know that one. Dune."

"No, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."

They both laughed.

"I never got your name," Sam said, noticing the lack of a name badge or any other identifying tag.

"Mason. Mason Carter," Mason replied as if he were James Bond.

"Well, Mr. Carter." Sam shook Mason's paw. "I'm Sam."

Less than an hour later, Sam was back in his office, working on the printer. 

"There we go." Sam stood up, wiping imaginary dust away from his hands and then shut the printer back up. "Lets see if this works." He pressed then linking green 'go' button and the machine began to whir and spit out documents.

Once the pages were all printed out, Sam organized the papers and put them neatly into folders, labeling them appropriately. He then went on to finish the rest of the day's work which mostly focused on sorting through various chits for time off and such. It was all easy, but time consuming and so it was already dark by the time he was finally done.

Sam stretched, having not moved from his chair in some hours and was greeted by a growling stomach. He also hadn't had either lunch or dinner.

"Grab something on the way home," Sam told himself as he turned off the lights to the office and headed out.

It was still humid, but not nearly as hot. Still made Sam feel sticky and wet to the point that he was thinking more about the shower he was going to take when he got home than the food he was going to buy.

The parking lots were large, but far away from the office and the gators were for on-hours only and for actual official business. 

"Not a taxi for your pleasure." Was what everyone who had a key to a gator had been told. 

And so, Sam began walking.

Everyone was home now except for the occasional security guard doing their hourly roves. A canine in a vest, armed with a handgun strapped to his side and the company logo on his shoulder, gave a friendly wave and a "goodnight," to Sam as he passed.

Sam returned the "goodnight," with one of his own and kept walking, but now he was thinking about Mason at the supply office. The supply office was one of the last places to close to deter people from trying to sneak in once the office was closed and steal supplies. That was how the last manager lost his job.

There was a chance Mason was still there or at the very least, closing up. If he hurried, Sam could get there and ask if he wanted to grab a bite. A friendly end of the day outing between newly made friends. 

Sam felt that he needed friends. Many of those he had earlier had been at his previous position on the other side of the country. Besides, where they his friends? Many of them speciesist and had made it well known, especially after Sam had announced he had taken the promotion and was leaving their secluded bubble of hate.

They asked him to fire all of the Anthros once he got there and got mad when he said that would be absurd. Sam had only avoided a confrontation by saying such as act would just be overstepping his authority as a new and green manager. They still wanted him to fire as many as he could and send videos of the Anthros' reactions.

No. They definitely were not real friends. Sam couldn't even understand why he had dealt with them for so long. It made him sick that he allowed them to be so horrible. But that was then. This was now. He made a friend. He made an Anthro friend. 

Much to Sam's delight, the lights were still on inside the building and he could see the shadow of someone moving inside.

"Hello?" Sam called out as he opened the door to the office. "Mason?" He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. There was no one behind the counter, but the door leading to the warehouse was open.

Why not? Sam thought. He was the manager and he had full authority to go behind the counter and inspect the warehouse.

Sam shrugged and went into the warehouse.

It was much bigger on the inside than what the outside had led Sam to believe. Shelves, rows upon rows of shelves that went from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. They were packed with supplies. Everything that anyone could possible need while working here was in this one location.

"Mason?" Sam called out again, this time cupping his hands over his mouth in the fashion of a megaphone. 

"Yeah! Down here!" A reply came from the left where engine parts were kept. 

Sam turned and walked quickly down the aisle. The smell of grease burnt his nose as he headed deeper into the more mechanical section of the warehouse. He then saw Mason who was counting a set of pistons and making marks on his clipboard.

The canine's tail wagged at the sight of Sam. "Mr. Coven! Thought you were one of the rovers coming by to make sure I wasn't stealing anything."

"They do that?" Sam asked and Mason nodded. "Also, just call me Sam. Mr. Coven just sounds too weird to my ears."

"Yeah. Sure thing, Sam." There was a slight pause before Mason said Sam's name as if he had fought down the urge to say, "Mr. Coven," again. 

"Not so hard, right?" Sam asked, trying to get the same spirited conversation they had earlier going again.

"Slides right off the tongue," Mason replied, clicking his pen and clipping it to the clipboard and giving his full attention to the man. "So what's up? I would have figured that you would have closed up shop a long time ago."

"Not today," Sam said. "Too many ships pulled in. So much paperwork. I only just finished the day's due a bit ago." Sam felt a bit of blood rush to his face suddenly as he prepared to ask if Mason was hungry or not. Why? It was just food. Not a date anyways. Sam didn't even swing that way... did he?

Sexuality had never been on Sam's mind. He had always been focused on work or school or just not thinking about women or men, Anthro or Human. But now... now he was thinking and there wasn't any opposition in his mind to thinking of this as a type of date. Sure. It was just a label. If it didn't swing that way, then the label could easily be peeled off and it was just a friendly outing. Though, he needed to ask the question first.

"I was going to grab a bite before heading home," said Sam. "Want to come with?"

He did. "Yeah. Of course," Mason said. "Starving." He patted his stomach to emphasize it.

Like Sam, he had missed both lunch and dinner due to the upcoming annual audit. He had to make sure that everything was accounted for and that meant meticulously going through the warehouse shelf by shelf. It took weeks to do and only if he didn't stop to eat. It was a vicious few weeks that Mason hated, more so than a bulk inventory restock or a missing high value item report. Those were just paperwork and involved angry management. Mason could handle that, but giving up weeks of his time to count stock, it felt like a waste of his time. 

Going out and getting food was not a waste. It was time well spent because Mason had a believe that time enjoyed was time well spent.

"Where're you planning on going?" Mason asked and began to lead them out of the warehouse. He was pretty much done anyhow. Work could continue the next day.

Sam scratched his chin. He had only been in Miami for two weeks and hadn't spent anytime getting familiar with the local favorites. He had been unpacking and attending indoctrination briefs.

"I'm not sure," Sam said. "I was going to look up places."

"You and your phone," Mason said, pulling Sam's hand out of pocket before he could grab the small mobile device. "You don't need that. I know the perfect place."

The prefect place ended up being a hole in the wall Thai noodle shop. Not much in appearance, it was set up in a large tent that one could purchase from Costco. The sides were decorated with flowers and paintings of Thai origin. A long table at the front with bar stools served as the counter and several small plastic chairs and tables were scattered in front. It was on the corner of a rather large mall parking lot.

"Best Pad Thai in the state," Mason exclaimed, getting out of Sam's truck. The canine didn't have a vehicle of his own. He had a license, but simply preferred to walk or ride his bike. Said bike was in the bed of the truck. 

"In the whole state?" Sam closed his door and walked over to the tent restaurant where an older man and what Sam presumed to be the daughter, were hard at work.

"Whole state," Mason confirmed.

The owner beckoned them to sit and said a few words in Thai to them. The daughter brought them water and handed them menus.

"The menu is pretty limited," Mason explained as he looked over the single piece of paper that made up the menu. "They only serve noodles, you just get to choose what goes in it."

"Easy enough," said Sam as he glanced at the different meats and vegetables that he could pick and choose to add. "Pretty cheap as well." The base price was only three dollars with a small fee to add more to the dish. Even then, once Sam had decided what he wanted, shrimp and a healthy mix of vegetables, the dish was only going to cost six dollars.

Mason ordered himself two bowls of noodles to which Sam poked fun.

"Gonna get a few pounds with that much food."

"The life of a supply clerk is tough and physically demanding." He stuck out his tongue. "Plus, we Anthros are known to have a higher metabolism."

"And a higher body temperature," Sam said, leading to a question that had been on my mind. "How do you deal with the heat? It's literal hell during the day. It's still too hot for me even now." He fanned his napkin in his face to add emphasis.

"Look at what I'm wearing," Mason told Sam and turns in his bar stool to show. 

He was on a single piece coverall that was just slightly too big and had zippers on the side for circulation. They were open and showed Mason's bare, furry ribs, a caramel brown color.

"Got to dress the right way."

"No shorts?" Sam asked. "Shorts seem to be the way to go for hot weather. Not an all encompassing body suit."

"Well if you read the regulations on clothing, you'd know that shorts are not allowed for those in office conditions except on casual Friday," Mason explained in a nerdy voice, complete with the snort at the end. "Coveralls, however, are approved in all spaces mostly due to the fact that it isn't explicitly forbidden."

"You got me there. I bow to your wisdom," Sam did a mock bow. 

"So that begs the question as to why you aren't wearing coveralls?" 

The food came then in moderately sized bowls with large amounts of toppings of why had been ordered. The two dug in and it was a few mouthfuls before Sam answered.

"Never thought about it," Sam said, tucking his chopsticks into the bowl and under some noodles to keep them from falling. "I've always been a polo shirt guy."

"That's the problem," Mason jabbed his chopsticks at Sam. "Polo shirts are too hot. No matter why you were sweating so much when you were in my office."

"And you're covered in fur. Head to toe. How aren't you in the same situation," Sam asked.

Mason shrugged. "I've lived here my whole life. I guess I got used to it. Don't even shed anymore since I don't grow a winter coat."

"Still makes no sense," Sam caught himself looking at Mason a bit too long, right into the unzipped side flap and at the fur underneath. It looked so soft. He wanted to touch it, but that would be rude and they had just met that day. He looked back at his food instead and picked at his food. Turned out he wasn't nearly as hungry as he thought he was.

"Jealous?" Mason put on a goofy grin, a piece of greasy noodle barely sticking out of his muzzle.

"Shut up," Sam gave Mason a friendly push. "You and your physics defying fur."

Mason took the shrug without moving much. He was the same height as Sam, but a lot more sense. Probably had around fifty pounds on the man.

The two stayed and finished their food and then bed each other farewell. 

Sam offered to drive Mason back to his home, but the canine refused quite sternly.

Sam drove home in silence, thinking about the evening. It had gone very well. Better than very well. It went great and yet Sam was still trying to figure out if he should call it a date. 

Nothing went wrong and they got along very well, but it had just been that, friendly. Not romantic, which Sam had hope for a bit. That made him even more confused. Was he gay? Was he bi. He didn't oppose dating a male or female, then again, he hadn't dated anyone before. How would he know until he tried.

Sam got home, a rental property. Not very big, but not small either with two bedrooms and two and a half baths. Everything he owned comfortably fit inside with some room to spare.

Inside, he plopped himself onto the side of his bed, letting his sore muscles relax. He then looked up and into his closet where his old set of coveralls hung. He hadn't worn them in years. The last time was when he had just started working for his father's friend. Ever since he had moved to more managerial position, he had switched to polo shirts.

"Hmm," Sam scratched the bit of stubble growing on his chin. Perhaps Mason was right. Maybe a change of uniform was needed.