.. Who’s the pilot of that 402 out there?”My ears perked up.Shirley pointed. “She is. In the corner over there.”I looked up. The guy was sixty...ish, probably fifty pounds overweight, greying and balding, dressed in slacks and a white shirt decorated with epaulets that one sees on airline pilots, so I’m guessing ‘pilot’. And he’s walking over toward me.“Hi. I’m Luigi Haugen. You can call me Geno.”“Hi, Mister Geno,” I said. “I’m Cindy Richards. You were asking about my 402?”“YOUR 402? You’re. I thought that it was bad enough that they had to watch sports for hours, but they also had to watch people talking about sports for hours also! I went upstairs, hoping to get some reading done and hoping to tune them out. There was another knock on the door. Patrick, I was guessing. The other guys answered it and let him in.I lay down on my bed and was getting to a really intense scene in the latest John Grisham novel I was reading, and then they started yelling really loud. The game wasn't. More

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