“Ma’am,” the medic interrupts her. “Do you know what day it is? How about your name? Do you know where–” “Damn, slow down.” I move toward Sunday, feeling a surge of protectiveness. These are all standard questions, but I know what he’s doing. He’s rushing to get this wrapped up because he wants to go and crash at the station.
I have a feeling this ain’t far from the truth on how they rush sadly
