But it's interesting how some of the other def'ns can be morphed to fit certain mindsets too ;-)

Like 2)
Buildin up yer vigilante clan 'sub-rosa' (OK that's bit like.. under water(table) but a stretch :(

Or 3)
As several testifed re bridges in NYC last century: you get The Bends and other respiratory, often fatal side-effects (prolly screwin up the alveoli in the lungs at very least). Can the brain be far behind? (They didn't know much then, nor did they care at all re the people working there - kinda like in any '02 Corporate temp pool? The direction of ---> The Future.)

Frank Harris (famed erotic and literary writer from the er Belle Epoque) described his sojourn when as a lad - he started making his Mark in NYC, including a brief sojourn in a caisson. Smart as he undeniably was - got his ass outta there reel quick - though I think he suffered some permanent hearing damage..

Anyway The Caisson Song has.. those catchy lyrics you can march to, like Patriots love. And the Artillery wore brown shirts, too.


Cheers,

Ashton