the
The A330F is a bit bigger than the A300s.
Max was cold, as usual he was wrapped tightly in his all too familiar looking puke green colored patient blanket. That easily appeared to resemble a Sith cloak. The air from the AC was blowing on overdrive, it had to be about at least 60 degrees. It was dark here now with only the interior running lights providing their dim yellow colored illumination. He had long ago gone nose blind, to rank stench, that smelled like a horrible concoction of crotch rot, halitosis, ripe underarms and ass. Because you can totally say that here. He looked out over the landscape of the milieu that he now controlled, with an eagle-like eye. Like a powerful raptor riding high upon the roaring wind, while looking for festering carrion. Tonight was no different than any other at the psychiatric emergency room. The plethora of black recliners that littered the milieu, were now full of unwilling patients brought in against their will by local PD. The patients that had just hours earlier been sleeping or eating out of the dumpster, now like Jetway Jesus, became emboldened and entitled. Expecting to be treated as if the PICU, was the fracking Four Seasons.
Bored, tired and half asleep, while sitting out in the hallway on watch, on his portable computer. Max got notification, that he had a new message on his favorite web forum. It was from his arch-nemesis,
@ASpilot2be. Excited now to have a purpose, for a moment of escape from his sheer insufferable boredom. He felt an adrenaline surge. His heart was racing now, beating in his chest like an 808 drum. He read the message. His first thought was. "Does. He. Know. Who. I. Am? Does he need to ask about me out here in these streets???"
Of course Max knew that an A330 was larger than a A300. But still Max, could not argue with the wisdom of truth. And simply, but reluctantly hit the like button.
"Well played Alec," Max said. "Well played. You win this round, you former A.Netter."
Still huddled underneath his blanket. A patient comes up to Max.
"How do you expect us to eat this crap? It's just two slices of bread, and a single slice of processed cheese."
"What were you eating before you came here?"
"I haven't eaten in a week, been hopped up on Crystal."
"Then this is an improvement."
Max looks up at the clock. It's 0245. Time to do that last 15 minute safety round of his two hour stretch of rounds before his lunch at 0300. Panic suddenly grabs hold of him tightly, never letting go. Causing an abrupt monsoon-like surge of sweat and adrenaline to pummel him. No time to proofread and make any grammatical corrections. He says fearing another foe will soon surface. That Fox, he sees everything. EVERYTHING! His displeasure will show again, if I have used commas incorrectly. PM's will be sent. A conversation will be had. But alas Max said surrendering to the restraints of time. What can I do? As he got up to go room to room, on the in-patient side, checking for suicides or overdoses.