...continued...examples of how Coben describes a scene
"Dr. Singh was, as her name strongly implied, Indian, from-India Indian as opposed to Native American Indian. Mid-thirties, he figured, her hair a lighter brown than what he was used to seeing on India Indians. She wore a white doctor coat, of course. So did all the interns, most of them appearing to be about fourteen years of age, their white coats more like smocks, like they were about to finger-paint or maybe dissect a frog in a junior high biology class. Some wore grave expressions that were almost laughable on their cherubic faces, but most emanated that medical-intern exhaustion from too many nights on call. Only two of the interns were men—boys really—both sporting blue jeans, colorful ties, and white sneakers like waiters at Bennigan’s. The women—to call them girls would use up Myron’s anti-PC quota for the week—favored hospital scrubs. So young. Babies taking care of babies."
"There was a sign for the Sol Goldman Heart Center right next to a sign for the hospital’s Burger King. Mixed messages or assuring future business—Myron wasn’t sure which. The elevator opened on the tenth floor. Directly in front of him, there was a rainbow-hued “Save the Rain Forest” mural, painted, according to the sign, by the “pediatric patients” of the hospital. Save the Rain Forest. Oh, like these kids didn’t have enough on their plate, right?"
"Myron mixed childlike Froot Loops and very adult All-Bran into a bowl and poured on skim milk. For those not reading the Cliffs Notes, this act denotes that there is still a great deal of boy in the man. Heavy symbolism. How poignant. The Number 1 train took Myron to a platform on 168th Street so far below ground that commuters had to take a urine-encapsulated elevator to reach the surface. The elevator was big and dark and shaky and brought on images of a PBS documentary on coal mining. Located in Washington Heights, a quick stone’s toss from Harlem and directly across Broadway from the Audubon Ballroom where Malcolm X was gunned down, Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center’s famed pediatric building was called Babies and Children’s Hospital. It used to be called just Babies Hospital, but a committee of learned medical experts was formed and after hours of intense study, they decided to change the name from Babies Hospital to Babies and Children’s Hospital. Moral of the story: Committees are really, really important."
"Dr. Singh was, as her name strongly implied, Indian, from-India Indian as opposed to Native American Indian. Mid-thirties, he figured, her hair a lighter brown than what he was used to seeing on India Indians. She wore a white doctor coat, of course. So did all the interns, most of them appearing to be about fourteen years of age, their white coats more like smocks, like they were about to finger-paint or maybe dissect a frog in a junior high biology class. Some wore grave expressions that were almost laughable on their cherubic faces, but most emanated that medical-intern exhaustion from too many nights on call. Only two of the interns were men—boys really—both sporting blue jeans, colorful ties, and white sneakers like waiters at Bennigan’s. The women—to call them girls would use up Myron’s anti-PC quota for the week—favored hospital scrubs. So young. Babies taking care of babies."
"There was a sign for the Sol Goldman Heart Center right next to a sign for the hospital’s Burger King. Mixed messages or assuring future business—Myron wasn’t sure which. The elevator opened on the tenth floor. Directly in front of him, there was a rainbow-hued “Save the Rain Forest” mural, painted, according to the sign, by the “pediatric patients” of the hospital. Save the Rain Forest. Oh, like these kids didn’t have enough on their plate, right?"
"Myron mixed childlike Froot Loops and very adult All-Bran into a bowl and poured on skim milk. For those not reading the Cliffs Notes, this act denotes that there is still a great deal of boy in the man. Heavy symbolism. How poignant. The Number 1 train took Myron to a platform on 168th Street so far below ground that commuters had to take a urine-encapsulated elevator to reach the surface. The elevator was big and dark and shaky and brought on images of a PBS documentary on coal mining. Located in Washington Heights, a quick stone’s toss from Harlem and directly across Broadway from the Audubon Ballroom where Malcolm X was gunned down, Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center’s famed pediatric building was called Babies and Children’s Hospital. It used to be called just Babies Hospital, but a committee of learned medical experts was formed and after hours of intense study, they decided to change the name from Babies Hospital to Babies and Children’s Hospital. Moral of the story: Committees are really, really important."