"EG?" Richard Nickerson calls out into the open air of the boiler room. "Temperature readout."
"Internal temperature of water heater: one hundred forty degrees. Negligable fluctuations in temperature."
As a sidenote offered from the walls, "I do not understand Resident 105's concern."
"Oh, he's just got a ion rod up his butt 'cause he can't burn away losin' that defense contract in a million-degree shower," Richard groans, pressing down hard on his knees when he pushes himself upright again.
It's a short flight of stairs from the sub-basement of Eureka Gardens, Eureka's one and only apartment building (for those who migrate to Eureka on the cheap hoping for coveted positions with the largest and most secretive scientific company in the United States) is awkward at best. Brick and mortar surrounded by tiny shops in the center of town, one could see the satellite dishes on top of the fifth floor of the building from almost any position in the town.
And the apartment building on Oppenheimer Street -- Eureka Gardens, EG to Richard -- was bored.
"Richard." A question, even if the tone does not reflect it.
"Yes, EG? I was trying to take a nap, here," Richard calls out, staring up at the ceiling tiles from his beige Lay-Z-Boy.
"Is it permissible to download the periodicals update for the library now. I suggest this be done before Mr. Andrews downloads specific private periodicals himself."
"And have them rerouted to Mrs. Dorsey in 416? No, please -- get on with it. Wake me up in a half hour, kay?"