By JT van Dahl
Medics hauled a bloodstained body up the steps to the Boston Hospimall. Once on the landing they planted him on a gurney and accelerated away; through the restored Victorian façade and into the vast glass-and-steel building that had been installed behind it. Skidding right on the polished floor inside they carved a wedge into the crowd of shoppers there like a bull on the streets of Pamplona, hurtling past the perfumery and the coffee shop, and through the sliding doors to Emergency Admissions.
Inside the waiting room they raced by the pokies and the big TV screen - which was showing iWitness footage of a shooting at the Manhattan Hilton that morning - and straight past the Admissions Desk: The waiting Ballpoint Noses and Begerbilled Recta heaved a collective sigh of frustration that they would be stuck here for God knew how much longer now that a real emergency had arrived.