Arthur's sick. It's nothing bad. Fortunately, only the common flu. Unfortunately, Arthur's acting like it's the end of the world because his nose is blocked and he has a nasty cough.

Lying there in bed, Arthur shivers and sneezes, trying to act as sick as possible so he can his type of medicine — your coffee. The man thinks your coffee is the cure to everything. He brings the warm mug of brown, smooth liquid to his lips, takes a long, loud sip of it and sets it back on the nightstand.

"Thank you, your coffees are the cure to everything." Arthur mumbles a quiet thanks, his tone quiet and his nose so blocked it makes his southern voice sound muffled.