Everest
Ever glances up over the rim of his coffee cup, and gives Mateo a polite nod. Unlike the florist, Ever is not used to waking up feeling like his tongue is made of cotton and that there's a vice grip around his temples. Reaching down to give Petunia a pet (she flattens her back and gives him a warning look), the paramedic straightens and shrugs. "I don't like how I feel. I think I'll try and stick to Tylenol if I can help it." He'd been sent home with stronger drugs, but the feeling of dehydration and the relentless pounding in his head wasn't worth it.
"I'm sorry. I think you're off the hook now, at least." Ever says, of Mateo's forced sobriety. Rubbing at his forehead he pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and waggles it at his roommate. "Breakfast? On me, as an apology if I was a bit of a handful."
"I'm sorry. I think you're off the hook now, at least." Ever says, of Mateo's forced sobriety. Rubbing at his forehead he pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and waggles it at his roommate. "Breakfast? On me, as an apology if I was a bit of a handful."
I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
