Pool_1

"Lion?" "Man, don't try making sense. He's Layon and he was named after the lion in some paraphonetic contortion. Brains didn't go all the way round in that family. Hmm? Won't see him 'til evening. He's down behind the power generator in the sub sub basement." "Doing what?" "Playing with himself. The man's got horn on his pecker from all that... ahhh, you get the idea." As his medical training was only in the preliminary phase, Marcus could only offer a slap to his own forehead, "Madonna." "Here." Jake lent Marcus his Baldwin, Nobody Knows My Name, which Marcus read cover to cover in just under an hour. There was little other distraction than music played on the cooks radio, quite loudly. Bolted over the kitchen's large central cauldron exhaust hood, was a huge stadium speaker to which they had rigged their radio. Wooden Ships was now blaring from the kitchen. Woodstock had exploded into a national event. It now seemed as if the food caldrons in the kitchen were also exploding, this music came screaming through the steam, and assaulted skin sensation by its volume. "Damn! You didn't read that!" Jake insisted. "I did," Marcus defended, "Why?" "Nobody reads that fast. You some kind of robot? I'll bet you got nothin’ from it," Jake scolded as if offended that his Baldwin was somehow damaged by the brevity of the reading. "He's an easy read. I'm not familiar with some of his references, but he's clear enough to keep the pace."