[i]Thomas[/i] It was cold. It was always cold in the hospital. Cold, and sterile. [color=fff200]"Damn doctors. Don't know shit about anything. Waste of money. Losy ..."[/color] Thomas muttered to himself as he walked out of Room 417. Mom was no better than before. Skin was looking blotchy and jaundice had set in around her eyes and mouth. And her veins. Lord her veins. Swelling in size and making her skin look almost blue. Made it hard to even look at her. The only good thing was that she didn't appear to be in pain. Sure they had to give her 20ccs of some gawd-awfully-expensive drug, but at least she was asleep, finally. She hadn't slept in three days. Insomnia they were calling it due to the virus that was obviously raking her body. But damn if they weren't stumped on what virus she really had. [i][color=fff200]'Call House,'[/color][/i] Thomas had cried at one point. Yeah the he knew the doctor was only on TV, but surely there had to be a diagnostician somewhere in [b]Mother of Mercy Hospital[/b]. He had left that day in such a rage that he dented the south stairwell exit door with his foot. The dent was no longer there today. [color=fff200]"Ha!"[/color] he cried. [color=fff200][i]All the money goes to making things look all pristine. But nothing can be done for the patients that reside within. Wonderful![/i][/color] This pissed him off even further. So he kicked the door with his steel-toed black boot, left a dent again, and then punched out the light above the door for good measure. He felt a little better as he exited out onto into the first floor corridor. The tile was freshly polished, and the maintenance man could be seen down near reception installing a new sign. Thomas made sure to pass by the other man and commented, [color=fff200]"someone's abusing your building,"[/color] and hooked a thumb at the southern stairwell. "Thanks," drawled the maintenance guy in some Middle Eastern accent. --- Though the sun was out, it was hard to know exactly where it was behind all the tall buildings. But damn if it didn't reflect off the buildings and blind you anyways. Thomas followed Jefferson St. north towards Commerce Blvd. and took a right. Five blocks later he was finally at [i]FastLane[/i]. "Where the hell have you been?" bellowed his boss John Russell, a fat, and mostly lazy, man in his mid-fifties. He was hardly a large man. No, he was the next level up. Gabriel Iglesias said it best, John ranged around the 5th level of Fatness, "DAMN!" He was once skinny, old photos of him were all around the shop , most of them encompassing a prized 2nd level racing trophy that he'd one 'back in the good old days.' But an accident (which was well documented in his office) left him with a bad leg -- and apparently an unquenchable hunger, John was always eating something. Today it was a Pastrami sandwich on Rye, extra everything; some of which was speckled on his shirt and face. [color=fff200]"I told you Mr. Russell,"[/color] yes, Thomas was formal -- forced formal, but formal nonetheless. [color=fff200]"I told you yesterday I was going to see my mother at the hospital. I even put it in writing like you asked."[/color] Thomas was trying to control his anger. His fist was aching from being clenched so tightly. "Never saw it" John Russell said dismissively. "You're fined $300 for being late," he noted sternly. "And if you're late again, you're fired." [color=fff200]"You can't do that!"[/color] Thomas roared back. "Oh I can't?" John Russell's eyes bore daggers. "All you inmates are all the same. You think you're above everyone's laws and rules. One day you'll see that the rules apply to YOU too." John turned on the spot and returned to his office, slamming the door behind him. Thomas banged his fist against a nearby tool cabinet. [color=fff200]"Damn him!"[/color] me muttered. [color=fff200]"One day he'll get his,"[/color] he said to Luis, another ex-con who worked at the shop. "Wouldnt be [i]FastLane[/i] if Mr. Russell wasn't yelling at someone," Luis added, "ey Tommy?" [color=fff200]"Life in the FastLane,"[/color] Thomas mildly chuckled quoting the shop's slogan.