Chapter 7 - Water Tank

Short story that fast lost track of itself. xD;
I really don't know. Mainly because I can't remember what I actually wanted to happen in this in the first place. It originally involved a dead body of a woman who'd been murdered and then dumped in one of the boiling tanks, but that idea kinda packed its bags and went on a permanent vaction. lol

Anyway, here you go. Happy Halloween, I guess...? (It was supposed to be a Halloween story, but again, I fail. lol )

Everything (c) me (Amy)
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Water Tank


Morgan moved quietly down the central catwalk, his boots clacking and clinking against the tough meshwork as he walked, quietly hating his job. He hated water. And he was in the job of keeping watch on six, deep water filled tanks. Three either side of him, three on the floor directly above. The metal room was in a constant fog when the space faring liner was in use, grimey water droplets dripping constantly from the low ceiling that spared him a meager four inches of head room, forcing him to duck beneath the pipes and support beams that were bolted to the ceiling. He eyed up the three water tanks that held the recycled, clean water. The water in each of the three tanks positively sparkled beneath their safety glass. Then he turned his attention to the boiler tanks full of the dirty water from the tanks on the floor above. With each flush of a toilet, each use of a tap and everytime the wave machine in the main swimming pool splashed water over the sides, the main waste tanks over head filled a bit more. The tanks up there, in Water Room One, were constantly feeding Morgan's tanks, the filth being filtered from the water, which in turn was boiled then filtered again as it was pumped, cleanly into the Clean Tanks. All had been going smoothly up until a few minutes ago, when he'd recieved word from a commanding officer that people were complaining about the sudden lack of water pressure. Morgan had heaved a sigh knowing full well what this meant. If one tank got clogged, then the pressure in the others would drop considerably. And the only way to combat it, if the pressure build up didn't force the blockage to clear, was to shut the offending tank down and go for a swim. And the offending tank was bleeping and flashing its red tell tales at the sweaty, disgruntled Elf. He swore the water tanks had been mocking him for the past three weeks. Ever since this cruise had started, there'd been numerous blockages in all the tanks, including the ones upstairs, which, he thought with extreme relief, were not in his charge. They were the charges of his co-worker, Jarret. In truth, the ship was in dire need of a retro-fit. Everything on board needing updating or replacing. Even the water tanks and their components. It was a wonder that health and safety weren't clambering all over the liner's owners, screaming for the ship to be dry docked permanently. Morgan inspected the flashing tell tales with disdain. The needle on the pressure gauge had left the comfort of the green and had dipped intto the orange, scant millimetres away from touching upon the angry red. He looked down into the tank of brown boiling water, heat condensing on the safety glass that covered the tank top. He couldn't see a damn thing. He made his way across to the far end of the room, wiping away sweat slicked tendrils of black hair and plucked the radio from its cradle. He depressed the button on its side and put it to his mouth.

''Water Room Two to Water Room One.'' He spoke into the radio with an air of undeniable boredom.
There was moment of silence then the radio crackled with static and a new, familiar voice replied to his request. A droplet of the grimey water dripped onto Morgan's head.
''Jarret, have any of your Sludge Tanks registered a blockage?'' Morgan asked.
The line went dead for another moment, then Jarret came back.
''Damn.'' He sighed. ''My third tank's registering a blockage in the Alpha Pipe.''
''So's mine. Care to check it out before I shut down mine for closer inspection?'' Morgan asked, a slight tone of hopefullness underscoring his initial boredom.
''Donning my suit as we speak, my friend.'' Came Jarret's reply. His grin could be heard in his voice.
''Lemme know what you find asap.'' Morgan said and re-cradled the radio, the springy wire coiling around itself as the slack in it was regained.
Morgan made his way back to the offending tank. Peering through the near perpetual mist, he squinted into the tank once more, a cold chill running up his spine despite the sauna like conditions of the room. Beneath the safety glass, the dirty water was bubbling away quite happily as if nothing was amiss. But looking hard, squinting through the condensation that gathered on the underside of the glass, he could see that the tank was below full. The tank was never below full. None of them were. Except for on this journey. On this cruise, the guests were blissfully unaware of the problems that were cropping up throughout the ageing cruise ship almost constantly. The old liner really needed an overhaul. No, it needs to be scrapped. Morgan thought bitterly. That way, he might be able to get a better job. But would the pay be any better...? Or would it be worse...? Truth be told, he chose this job himself. Not many people wanted to work in the Water Rooms onboard a massive space faring liner, but it wasn't the working conditions that had allured him. It was the pay. The pay was above average wages, mainly due to the hazards pertained in the job, as well as the uncomfortable working environment the employee would have to put up with. But Morgan had got the job, and he'd put up with it for the past five years, and as much as he hated tending to the filthy water tanks, he didn't want to leave his job. The health plan was top-notch as was the pay and the onboard quarters he got to dwell in during each cruise. He wasn't about to give it up any time soon, no matter how badly the little voice in the back of his mind protested.

From the back of the room, the radio crackled for his attention. Morgan strode over to it and was greeted by the voice of Jarret, who sounded decidedly knackered and mildly disgusted.
''Morgan? You there? C'mon man, I need a fracking shower!'' Jarret all but whined.
He gripped the slippery, water proof communications device and depressed the button, answering his co-worker.
''I'm here,'' He replied levelly, ''Find anything?''
The response was not something he wanted to hear.
''It's hard to see through all the crap floating about in the tanks up here, but there's definately something big blocking the Alpha Pipe. And it's at your end, pressed up against the filter.'' Jarret replied.
''shoot...'' Morgan mumbled unhappily. This meant he had to go into the tank.
''Well, I'm going for a shower. I smell worse than fermented Hoash...''
The line crackled then went dead. Morgan replaced the radio in its cradle, eyeing the bubbling tank like a cat would a bath. The only thing he hated more than a tank full of water, was a tank full of murky water. Even green watered swimming pools gave him the creeps. He shrugged the horrible feeling off and put it down to what he always blamed his irrational fear on: Too many horrors when he was a kid. He walked across the catwalk to his left and pried open the greasy cover of a control panel that was embedded into the wall. The hinges on the cover gave a protesting squeek as he did so. He looked down the damp array of switches, buttons and gauges and located the small control interface for tank three. Two switches were flicked and a button pressed. An alarm went off at the tank's main console and Morgan shut the control panel's cover and made his way across to where the red tell tales were now flickering angrily, bleating out a warning. The heat had been cut off to the tank and the openings to the clean water tanks had been closed off by strong shutters. Everything had been intentionally cut off from the boiling tank. All he had to do now was wait for the temperature of the water to come down enough for him to submerge himself into the murk without fear of being scolded to within an inch of his life. The cooling process would take at least twenty minutes. He flicked a switch on the interface and the safety glass slowly slid back, releasing the acrid aromas of boiling waste along with a plume of steam. Morgan gagged, the stench almost too much for his system to handle. He reflexively turned away from the now open tank, hand to his face, covering his nose and mouth.


Pulling the heavy wet suit on, he zipped it up at the front, his clothes folded as neatly as possible on the wet bench behind him. No matter. His clothes were wet within moments of entering the room anyway. He pulled the breathing equiptment on, strapping it securely to himself before waddling awkwardly over to the blocked tank. The water temperature had gone down enough, and was now luke warm compared to its murderous state of boiling a little more than twenty minutes ago. Morgan swung the gate open on the railing that surrounded the tank. He gripped the top of the ladder and peered down into the mist and at the murky water. For long moments he stood there, frozen in place, his skin crawling from just looking at it. He really didn't like bodies of murky water. Especially when the body of murky water was contained in a deep, seemingly bottomless tank. Who knew what kind of monstrosity was lurking down there, blocking the main feed pipe. It certainly couldn't be a mass of tissue. If the water didn't dissolve it, then the heat of the water surely would break it up. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. Maybe it was time to look for a new job. Preferably one that didn't involve tanks of dirty water. Pulling the breather mask tightly over his face, he checked once more that no skin was on show, revealed to the potentially lethal grime that lurked within the tank. Assured that he was fully covered, he pressed on, landing with a splash. The murk swarmed around him, shrouding him with grit and small lumps of grime that had yet to be broken down by the boiling process. He paddled forward, feeling along the horribly greasy wall of the tank until he fingered one of the smaller pipe mouths. He could now just about make out the gaping maw of the Alpha Pipe. It wasn't a welcoming sight. It sent chills racing across his body as his imagination went into overdrive, conjuring up all kinds of beasts that could lunge out at him from the darkness of the gaping, black hole...
He shook his head, clearing his mind. He could see inside the large pipe, could see the network of meshes and grilles. Clumps of waste of various types clung to the wires of various thickness. He pulled at a piece of tissue, the debris all but disintergrating between his fingertips. He pulled at another piece of debris and cast it aside. Now the grime had settled, accommodated to his prescence in the tank, he could see a little bit clearly. The clarity wasn't much, but it was marginally sufficient for him to do his job efficiently. And the quicker he got it done, the quicker he could be back out of the tank and in the shower, safe in the knowledge that it wasn't going to clog up again for at least another forty-eight hours. Gripping a large piece of wedged debris he tugged. It wouldn't budge. He had no idea what it was. And it was firmly wrapped around the wirework of the central filter, one tendril hanging free and in Morgan's reach. He grunted, a stream of bubbles escaping to the surface as he gave another tug, this time bracing himself with his flippered feet on either side of the pipe opening to give himself some leverage. He heaved again. The tendril of debris whipped from his gloved hand. Morgan pulled back in surprise. Something moved swiftly behind him, disturbing the water and the grime that was settled on the floor of the tank.

He searched the gloom and saw nothing but the half boiled left overs of the waste tanks on the floor above. Then, just as he was succeeding in calming his warped imagination, something thin wrapped around his ankle. Morgan looked down, eyes wide. There was a thin, deep red, mottled blue tentacle wrapped firmly around his ankle. He yelped, the sound muffled by mask and water and tugged away, flailing for the ladder and the safety of the catwalks. Whatever it was, was clinging on, but wasn't hindering his progress. As he gripped the ladder and heaved himself out of the water, something sharp pierced the back of his leg. Morgan cried out. The pain was excrutiating, burning up the length of his leg and was slowly spreading out across the rest of his body. The tendril that had pierced him sank back into the water and the one wrapped around his ankle released him and vanished back into the gloom too. Morgan heaved himself onto the catwalk, pulling his breather mask away from his face and groaned in agony, rolling onto his back as best he could with the burden of the single oxygen tank that was strapped there. As his wandering hand brushed against the back of his calf, he looked down. There was a needle sharp, thin spear embedded in his flesh. The boney needle had easily pierced the thick layer of wetsuit and was now buried deep in his muscle. He gripped it and gave an experimental tug. He instantly regretted it. Pain seethed through him and multi-coloured stars and spots danced mockingly before his eyes. He groaned again. Whatever was down there was clogging the system up and it could survive the heat that the boilers doled out. He tried to stand and got as far as a crouch before he fell forward, skinning his right cheek on the catwalk grating as he landed awkwardly. He hissed something under his breath and then proceeded to haul himself across the catwalk, towards the bench and the radio. Finally reaching the bench, he pulled himself up onto it, un-hooking the radio from its cradle with numb fingers. He fiddled clumsily with the channels until he got the one he wanted.
''Water Room Two to Security.'' He said breathlessly. His head spun horribly and he was feeling incredibly ill.
''Go ahead Water Room Two.'' Came the gruff reply.
''I've got something potentially lethal in tank three.'' He gasped as his leg cramped painfully. ''I need a medic and permission to vent the tank.''
''We're on our way.'' Was the instant reply.
Then the weight of his equiptment and the heat became too much. His eyes rolled back, his body spasmed and he slid awkwardly from the bench, landing in a sprawl on the catwalk.


The heavy, reinforced steel door of Water Room Two was heaved open with a protesting squeek and three guards and a medic piled in. It had been four minutes since the call had come through and now they found themselves with a passed out Tank Attendant, whom lay sprawled awkwardly at the end of the room. The medic hurried over to where Morgan lay, sweat beading her skin almost instantly, her nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of the tanks. Kneeling down beside him, opening her case, she looked down at him, eyes going wide. His skin had turned into masses of boils and tumours. Behind her, the guards got to work. Two of them were already wearing wetsuits, their equiptment strapped on and ready to use. Pulling their flippers on and their masks over their faces, they plunged into the now cold tank.
''What's his status?'' A gruff voice asked through the lingering mist.
There was a moment of silence. Then the medic replied, solemnly.
''Dead.'' She said and carefully inspected the tumours and boils. ''I can't give a definate reason why in these conditions, but it looks like he was boiled from the inside out...''
She placed a hand gently on Morgan's chin and slowly tilted his head to one side. From below the surface, there was a muffled cry quickly followed by the bubbles it produced. One of the frogmen guards surfaced and scrambled out of the tank with a speed and agility that was belyed by his current state of dress. His boss grabbed him and helped him heave himself onto the catwalk. Upon removing his breather mask, the man looked visibly shaken.
''There's something in the tank, sir!'' He said hurridly. ''They were everywhere! All around us! Craig... He was... He was...''
As if on cue, the surface of the water in the tank bubbled violently and red and blue grimey looking tentacles thrashed about the surface momentarily, a few chunks of fresh meat being thrown about among the frenzy. The guard in the wetsuit promptly threw up.
''What the frack?!'' The older man exclaimed.
''What's going on?'' The medic asked, approaching with a stride.
''We're venting the tank.'' He said.
''We need the captain's permission to do that-'' She started to say, but she was cut off.
''We can worry about the captain later.'' He snapped and flicked a switch. The safety glass closed over the tank, a flailing tentacle slapping wetly against it.
''Oh my God!'' The medic exclaimed.
The frogman guard pulled himself to his feet.

''Sarge, what about the other tanks?'' He asked.
''We'll discuss those with the captain later. For now, this needs to be emptied. What ever is in this tank is going for a swim outside.''
''I hope. Those things have a tough grip.''
The Sergeant strode across to the main controls embedded into the wall and pulled the front cover open with a wet squeek. Buttons were rapidly pressed and there was a succession of low rumbling and dull clanking noises from below their feet. Then there was a horrible gurgle, like a giant bath rapidly draining its contents. The dirty water in the third tank promptly started to get lower and lower as the water was jettisoned into space, instantly crystalizing in the lack of atmosphere and warmth. In the bottom of the tank, small, spikey creatures with long, meandering tentacles thrashed about in the brown muck. There were only a few of them left, clinging onto the heating pipes that lined the floor of the tank whilst their brethren were sucked out into space.
''What the hell are they?'' The younger guard asked, bewildered and still feeling somewhat ill as the remaining Octopus like creatures coiled around the dirtied Elven meat.
''Octopoda Spirriniah.'' The medic said slowly. ''At least I think so...''
''What the Hell're they? The Sergeant asked, repeating his underling's query.
''A kind of Octopus that likes to dwell in hot water. They're highly venomous and much stronger than they look.'' She replied. ''They're mainly found on planets such as Desserria and Sumalku.''
''What the Hell are they doing on this ship?''
''Some people like to keep them as pets. They breed extremely fast, so they tend to get flushed alot.'' She replied almost nonchalantly.
''Get the captain down here.'' He growled bitterly. ''I want all these tanks emptied before the next stop.''
''And then what?'' His comrade asked.
''We interview everyone on this ship and find out who brought these bastards on board. I'm gonna have 'em for murder.'' He snarled and went to inspect the other tanks while the captain was contacted.


The captain, a plump man with a neatly trimmed beard stood in the doorway to Water Room Two, Jarret just behind him, trying to get a look into his co-worker's area to see what was happening.
''What's going on?'' Jarret asked again, becomming more and more agitated as his questions were sidestepped and dismissed.
''Non of your business.'' The captain snapped irritably.
''Yes it bloody is! I work in Water Room One! I wanna know what's going on and what's happened to Morgan!'' He protested angrily.
The sergeant locked gazes with the captain.
''Your co-worker, Morgan Beckman has been killed.'' The sergeant said coolly.
The captain glared.
''.... What!?'' Jarret snapped and barged past the captain and the sergeant, heading for the back of the room where several medics and guards swarmed.
Two guards brought Jarret up short and ushered him back.
''It's best you don't see.'' One of the guards said. ''It's not a pretty sight.''
''He never was a pretty sight to begin with.'' Jarret retorted lightly, then realised that his friend was no longer there to playfully thwack him in the back of the head for such a comment.
His shoulders sagged.
''What happened to him?''
''Poisoned.'' Came a female voice from somewhere behind the guards. ''Someone brought a couple of poisonous Octopi onboard and flushed them or their offspring. Your friend Morgan was the victim of them.''
''But... But.... He only went to unblock the Alpha Pipe in this tank.'' He replied helplessly gesturing at the offending, now empty tank. ''Nothing can survive the kinda heat these things generate.''
''I'm afraid these creatures can. They thrive and reproduce quicker in hot water.''
Jarret leaned against the safety rail of the neighbouring clean water tank, saphire eyes down cast.
''We're emptying the tanks!'' Came the sergeant's voice. ''Every last one of them.''
''Even the cleans?'' Jarret asked, eyes wide.
The sergeant nodded.
''I ain't taking no chances. Go back upstairs and empty those tanks too.''

Jarret hesitated only a moment. Was this really happening? He nodded once and hurried off back to Water Room One. Taking the steps two at a time, he bounded back onto the catwalks of his narrow Water Room, gagging instantly on the fermented aroma. No matter how long he worked in this room, the smell of boiling waste was a thing that was hard to become used to. He trudged alongside the covered tanks, the sludge beneath the safety glass bubbling away Languorously. He approached his own set of main controls embedded into the far wall and opened the cover. He flicked switches and needles started to slowly dip into their red zones. He grabbed the gas mask to his right, plucking it from its hook and pulled it over his face. The last time he'd had to vent these tanks, he'd nearly died from the fumes. He grabbed the radio and called Water Room Two. The gruff voice of the sergeant answered almost immediately.
''Let me know when the boiler tanks down there are empty so I can empty these.'' Jarret said.
''The second waste tank is now being emptied as we speak. I'll let you know when the first tank is done and ready.''
There was a moment of static and then all went silent. Jarret cast his eyes around the room, taking in his surroundings. This would be the last time he would ever see it. The next stop would be tomorrow noon at an orbital station, and he intended on leaving along with some of the passengers who lived on the planet the station orbited. He was sick of working the Water Rooms, both figuratively and physically. The pay was good, yes. But his health had been in decline ever since taking up the job seven years ago. It was time for a fresh, safer start in the world of business. The radio crackled and the gruff voice of the sergeant floated through the room. Jarret grabbed the radio and depressed the button, answering the sergeant.
''Prepare for sluice release. All three waste tanks down there are gonna fill up fast, so close the lids incase of spillage.'' Jarret said sternly.
''Acknowledged Water Room One, lids are being closed now. Release the contents.'' The sergeant then signed off with a buzz of static.
Jarret took a breath and proceeded to flick all the appropriate switches. There was a series of clunks as the regulating gates in the network of feed pipes were opened fully, filters slding back into their respective slots as the system started sucking the tanks empty with unnerving speed. Down in Water Room Two, the three boiling tanks filled fast with thick brown sludge, the contents slapping thickly up against the safety glass. A couple of the guards gagged. It wasn't a nice sight and made them regret ever eating lunch. The radio crackled and Jarret's voice came through.

''There's something moving in the bottom of these tanks up here.'' He stated, sounding rather displeased.
He could hear the creatures writhing and squirming in the muck beneath the safety glass. They were also making odd sucking noises.
''We're releasing the contents of the boiling tanks now, stand-by and don't open the lids.'' The sergeant said brusquely.
''I wasn't even considering it.'' Jarret replied, making a slight adjustment to his mask.
The contents of the three boiling tanks froze into clumps as soon as they reached the blackness of space. As soon as the boiling tanks were empty, the clean water was backflushed through the pipes and into the grimey boiling tanks, swilling away the Octopi and most of the clinging waste. The sergeant watched the tanks empty for the third and final time. Everything had been flushed away, jettisoned into space out of the under carriage of the ship. He picked up the radio and depressed the button, addressing Jarret.
''All tanks clear. Get yourself cleaned up and retire. I want all members of staff in the main hall tomorrow when we arrive at the dock.''
He re-placed the radio in its cradle and looked to where Morgan's deformed body lay, a sheet of white linen draped over his corpse. He then looked to the medics.
''Get him outta here.'' He said, gesturing at the body. Then turning to his own team, he said, ''Seal off both Water Rooms. No one's to enter without my permission. Even the captain.''
The captain bristled slightly at this then calmed down somewhat. A man had died in that room, and it wasn't up to him to dole out justice or investigations. That was the sergeant's job, what he was being paid to do.


Jarret stood alongside the three other Water Room workers in the main hall of the ship. All members of staff were clumped together, chattering away quietly to each other.
''Morgan were a good lad...'' A much older man said solemnly, his brow heavy with age. ''No one deserves to go in such a way.''
''I 'ope they find whoever brought those things on board.'' Grumbled another man sourly.
''I hate Octopuses.'' Said the youngest worker.
All three were wearing their uniform of dark brown overalls. Every member was in uniform. The chefs in their whites along with the medical staff. The cleaners in their black and white blouse and trouser combo. The life guards from the pool house in their red and yellow. Even the bridge crew were there.
''As soon as this is over, I'm outta here. I should've quite the last time 'round.'' Jarret grunted.
The youngest worker looked at him.
''Thisis happened before?'' He asked, eyes wide.
The oldest man shook his head.
''Nay. The last big thing that happened to our lot was that one of the boiling tanks nearly blew up.'' He said.
''Ruptured the main heat pipe.'' Jarret added.
''Oh...'' The younger man said.
Right then, the sergeant came into the hall. All went quiet, and the staff gathered around the big man.
''We've searched your quarters and work spaces.'' He said. ''And you'll be glad to know, that your alibies are now deemed completely feasable. You can move on and continue with duties from deck One-A through to deck Two-B. And don't venture beyond these decks, because myself and the lads are still working our way through the passengers and their rooms.''
''How long will that take?'' A cleaner asked.
''At the rate we're moving through each room and its occupant, about three hours.'' He replied. ''Good day.'' He tilted his hard beaked cap and turned on his heel, striding off.
''I'm packing my bags.'' Jarret said abruptly.
All faces of the water workers turned to look at him.
''Handed in my letter of resignation this morning. I ain't staying in this job anymore. Not after last night. I hate diving those tanks.'' He said with a visible shudder for the last few words.
''Well, good luck to ya, then.'' The middle aged man said after a moment with a slap to Jarret's back.
Jarret nodded.
''I'll see you guys around, eh?'' He smiled then walked off, toward his quarters.


Stuffing his case full of his clothes and various other personal belongings, Jarret looked out of the small, round window. The planet below swirled with the whites and greys of clouds as they scudded and danced through the sky above the lush green lands and purest of blue oceans. He sighed and paused in his actions. He really didn't know what to do next. Once he left this liner, that was it. There was no going back. He had money to hand and also in his bank account. He was only two planets away from his own. And he knew he had a relative or two on this world. Maybe his aunt was still alive. But he couldn't recall what her number was, only dimly remembering where her house was situated. Forcing the lid down on his suit case, he clicked it locked and heaved it off the low bed. Seven years of buggering about with sludge filled tanks had lent him some good muscles, which he was greatful for. His otherwise heavy suitcase weighed as much as a shopping bag to him. He walked out his room, leaving the key in the door and made his way down the hallway. Climbing into a lift, he made his way to the middle decks where the passengers were slowly filing in in groups of four by groups of four. A few of the upper class, snootier passengers looked him over with disgust, wrinkling their noses. He ignored them. If it weren't for people like himself and Morgan, their waste wouldn't be treated daily on these grand outings. Though the lingering smell of the boiling waste lingered on him, he knew that it wouldn't last. Several thorough washes of himself and the clothes would provide his nose and the noses of other's with relief. He walked down the tunneled gangway and stepped onto the station, looking around at the clean, steel and glass surroundings. He spotted a small, electric train and boarded it. It would take him to the station to planet shuttle bay, where he would be able to get his ticket. As he made himself comfortable on the bench seat, he looked back at the massive liner. One guard was escorting a woman off the ship and onto the station. Three more were carrying her luggage, one of which was a sealed glass tank full of small red and blue spikey creatures...
The woman looked as impassive as her coat of Polar Minks. She didn't look at all bothered about being escorted into a police car, or bothered about the fact that her pets had been confiscated, possibly to be destroyed later. The door on the small, station bound police car shut and pulled away, vanishing into the network of wide corridoors that laced the orbital station. The sergeant stood there for a moment, watching the receeding vehicle. Then he looked over at Jarret and gave a solemn dip of his head before making his way back to the ship. The train gave a whistle, the shrill noise breaking through the sudden silence before moving away. When Jarret arrived at his aunt's house, he'd have to have a drink for Morgan, a friend and co-worker who kept him amused through the long boring hours of water work with his random, obscenely accurate comments about life in general. Assuming, that is, his aunt still lived or hadn't moved away.

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