Everest
You have arrived at your destination, Ever's phone advises, and though he doesn't see his friend, he tips the cab driver and gets out. Looking perplexed but calm, he clicks on Mateo's icon in his recent-calls list. A light catches his gaze, and it's with a frown that he collects his friend's phone from where it has almost fallen into the gutter, before realizing that it's accompanied by pieces of Mateo's wardrobe. Picking up the blazer and the boot—the scuff marks making him think that perhaps Mateo was dragged somewhere against his will—the paramedic raises his head and looks sharply about.
"MATEO?" He calls loudly, turning in a circle and trying to latch onto any movement nearby. Though his pulse has quickened, Ever remains calm; he doesn't dial 911 and doesn't panic. This all might be a joke, a misunderstanding, or just a Mateoism gone wrong.
"MATEO?" He calls loudly, turning in a circle and trying to latch onto any movement nearby. Though his pulse has quickened, Ever remains calm; he doesn't dial 911 and doesn't panic. This all might be a joke, a misunderstanding, or just a Mateoism gone wrong.
I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
