Max was always hungry. It didn't matter what time of day it was. Morning, noon or night, the man was never satisfied. For breakfast he would scarf down eggs, cereal, and milk like there was no tomorrow. At lunchtime he would bolt down sandwiches like they were potato chips. At night, he'd devour pizzas, pasta, steaks, whatever meal was easy to make. Between meals, too. He would snack on anything and everything. He would shovel handful after handful of food into his mouth, his fingers juicy with grease, until his stomach bulged. And still he wanted more. More french fries. More hamburgers. More hot dogs. More everything.
Bryan had always noticed this. Ever since his father died and his mother remarried, Max's eating habits had always disgusted him. His biological father had been a thin, quiet man, barely touched his food at all. But Max. Now that his mother was dead and Max had full custody, his habits had become worse than anything Bryan could imagine. He was like an eating machine. The site of the man shoving handful after handful of food into his greedy mouth was grotesque. It was repulsive.
Bryan could never take his eyes off of him.
Max was huge. Standing at 6' 1", he was almost a full foot taller than his stepson and was all bulk and belly. He must have been at least 300 pounds of hairy muscle, with a huge, taut belly that bulged obscenely against any shirt he wore. Bryan, on the other hand, had always taken after his father. He was small and skinny, and was never hungry. When he stood beside Max, he was dwarfed, like a deer beside a grizzly.
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