A second crunch.
Five more. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. I turn. My foot prints are gone. There’s only virgin snow between the fire hydrant and me. No trail of incrimination. I could leave now. When I come home later, (poof) the problem will simply disappear as readily as my footsteps.
“Blood pressure...”
I interrupt LifeCoach. Is he really frozen or just acting? It this some pity game he’s playing to get free food? Before yesterday, I didn’t know he existed. But now I’ve seen. Now I know what’s in that corner, cold and not moving. Oh God.
#terriblebadnogoodstupidstupidstupididea
But I have to.
As iPerceive shuts down, sunlight turns to shadow, pure snow turns to trodden slush and the silent hydrant turns to a shivering man, curled under a blanket in the only dry corner, and I...
#waitaminute
Shivering?
He’s alive?
“Your heart rate is...” I interrupt LifeCoach and run to him.
“Hey...” I say. I’ve forgotten his name. He looks at me.
*Ping – Sergeant Steven Johnson
“Hey Steven,” I say. “You’re freezing,” He nods. “You need help.” He nods. “Okay, okay, okay, okay,” I say.
“Epinephrine and norepinephrine critical. Anxiety is a health hazard. Relax, put your feet up. Imagine a happy place,” says LifeCoach and starts a steel-drum-Caribbean ditty.
“Go to hell,” I say, but the steel-drum ditty keeps playing. Sergeant Johnson’s eyes widen. “No, no, no, not you. Don’t go to hell. I was talking to LifeCoach,” I say.
“L-l-l-i-i-f-f?” he stammers.
“Never mind,” I say. But I still don’t know what to do.
*Ping – Treatment of hypothermia. Bring the victim to a warm place. Remove wet clothing. Wrap the victim in a blanket. Bring the victim a warm drink...
#thankgodforwikisearch
I drape St. Johnson over my shoulder and wretch, twice. I’ve never smelled anything like him. My knees buckle as I take the first stair. I take the next two with my hand on the concrete.
Three stairs up, I hear:
“Lauren, I was just going by on my way to the office.” I turn. Who is this bald man speaking to me? “Listen, I wanted to talk to you,” he says. “I was able to catch the tail the action, but we missed out on most of the profit from the merger yesterday.”
*Ping – Rick Stock. Business Associate. Twitter: @rickstock538
#OMG.
It’s Rick, but it’s not Rick. It’s like Rick’s chubby older brother.
“Okay, yeah. The merger,” I grunt. Why doesn’t he offer to help?
“Well, the problem is that this mistake is probably going to cost the company a pretty penny. This might be reflected in your bonus and...” I stumble. He cocks his head, “Is this a bad time?”
“I think that I need another day off,” I say. Rick peers at the homeless man on my shoulder, opens his mouth and then closes it.
“Alright,” he finally says. “It’s your bonus, not mine.” He turns to go and then stops. “Just out of curiosity, is this some kind of modern art or something?”
“Modern art?” I say, the steel-drum ditty in my head still going de-dada, da-da-da, do-do-do-do-do, de-de da-da-da.
“The fire hydrant,” he says pointing at my shoulder.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Modern art.”
“You know that there’s a new neo-perfectionist exhibit that you might be interested in. It’s over on... (*Ping) ...Kinnickinnic Avenue,” he says.
“Great, I’ll check it out,” I say.
“Alright,” he says. “Enjoy your day off. See you tomorrow.” Then, he trots down the slushy, dark sidewalk, cheerily whistling the same steel-drum-Caribbean ditty playing in my head.
Inside, I put Sergeant Johnson on the sofa.
*Ping – Remove wet clothing. Wrap victim in a blanket.
I do what WikiSearch tells me to. It’s, well...unpleasant.
*Ping – Bring victim a warm drink.
I run to the kitchen. AutoBev pours a nice cup of, water?
#wtf
I asked for hot coco. Okay then, tea.
It’s water.
Coffee = water.
Mulled wine = water.
Merlot = water.
Beer = water.
Coco loco = water.
Vodka? Water.
