Essay on Analysis Of The Movie ' The Night ' By F. Scott Fitzgerald
Danny Milford (codename Captain, for obvious reasons), on the other hand, was the esteemed pilot of the Northumberland and made damn sure the poor sod didn’t end up splattered on the side of a building, or worse, falling to his death. So, they continued at a slow place and high altitude, all lightning rods in place, while the Snake prayed for his life and pissed his pants, in that order.
They didn’t make him suffer for long, about 15 minutes or so, before they docked at the agreed upon meeting place. The Fusilier had radioed Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade the moment he’d reached the bridge, still sopping wet from his nightly excursion.
Danny wrinkled his nose, looking the man up and down, swivelling in his pilot’s chair. “You smell like a wet cow.”
“Technically, I am a wet cow,” The masked man quipped, wriggling his wet toes in his boots. God, what an uncomfortable feeling.
“Took the liberty of getting Lestrade on his home line, figure’d you’d want to give ‘im the news,” Danny winked, flipping a metal switch that effectively engaged all the speakers on the bridge.
“Greg, are you there?” The Fusilier asked into the space, glancing at their trajectory…