<b>Bobby Boss, M.D. - Moving from Ward B to the Cafeteria, contemplating life</b><br/><br/>Bobby was reaching for the kit to drain Burpleson of his kangaroo pouch when Cliff's hand sped past and plucked it right off the cart.  The man was rolling with the paunches, so to speak and hardly seemed to be paying attention to what was going on.  Bobby on the other hand found himself in a mask and splatter suit just as quickly; nothing like watching a man on a reckless mission.<br/><br/>Thank the high heavens for Goldwasser being there when blood started to fill the bag and then the man was dead, that quick from the introduction of air into his veins.  It was such an elementary mistake to not draw back on the needle to check its location before allowing it to begin suctioning that Bobby could only stare in horror at Harris through his blood splattered mask.<br/><br/>Speechless, he looked around him to see if anybody else had notice the dead man in the ward but even the leading man didn't seem to care; he was focused on food, no surprise there.  The gown and mask were removed in silence and Bobby left the ward in a brisk and turgid manner for the cafeteria.<br/><br/>Like cattle, he got in line behind a few old nurses, riddled with liver spots and reeking of cheap cigarettes as they waddled through and took what was served.  Bobby, on the other hand, gave each item a two second timeline in which either he could figure out what the substance was or it wasn't going on his tray.  By the time he reached the cashier he had an apple, a carton of milk and a plate stacked high with toast.<br/><br/>At the first empty table, he sat munching away, his eyes had drifted off into space as he wondered what this hospital was going to do to his career.  He figured his license would be revoked within the first week and he'd end up somebody's golf caddy in the Hamptons.<br/>