hack, hack | 2002-09-04 - 9:06 p.m.

As I prepared to pull out of the 7-11 aparcamiento, Sr. Short Sleeves started coughing again. This time, the coughing sounded really bad. So bad that I pulled over and stopped the car just in case I'd be needed to administer CPR to the hapless sales rep.

"Are you alright?" Concha asked him, barely managing to hide her disgust at the horrible sounds that were issuing from his skinny chest.

I looked over to assess the situaci�n. To my horror, I saw that Sr. Short Sleeves' forehead was beaded with sweat and his skin was starting to turn blue. From the neck up, he was looking algo like one of those skinny amphibian ladies on the Whirlpool appliance goddess commercials, except his hair was all wrong and he wasn't spraying water into the ambiente.

"His lips are empezando to turn blue," I nervously told Concha. "I think we'd better get him to a hospital."

Concha punched the overhead light in frustraci�n. I heard it crack. "Ay, Dios," she growled, falling back into her seat. "With our suerte, he's got anthrax! This car's probablemente crawling with spores."

We drove in relative speed and silencio to the hospital, although silencio isn't really the word for the constant hacking and spluttering that originated from Sr. Short Sleeves' side of the carro. My hands gripped the wheel; this time, with steely determination rather than fear. We had an emergencia on our hands, a bona fide crisis, and I wasn't about to let my relative inexperiencia as a driver determine the outcome.

I must have been concentrandome pretty hard, because it wasn't until a few blocks after running the red light that I realized Concha was chillando at me to pull over.

"Can't you see what you just did?" she was saying. "In full view of the cops, too."

"What? What?"

Concha punched the overhead light again. This time, pieces of the plastic cover rained down. "Ah, shit," she said. "Ah, shit, it's too late."

And I couldn't hear what else she was saying. Her customarily powerful voice was all but drowned out by the coughing and spluttering of Sr. Short Sleeves and the high-pitched sirens of the squad cars behind us.

pride and prejudice - 2004-09-07
wherein I become a Yahoo! Search Result - 2004-06-23
like 9-11 all over again - 2004-06-20
enough said - 2003-02-05
tirar por la calle de en medio - 2003-01-28

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