For the second time today, as the sun descends on the horizon to throw its flame-coloured rays at us, I’m driving Chris’ Pontiac. He says nothing and stubbornly stares at his window on the passenger side. I can’t help it, at regular intervals I give him uneasy glances. Even if driving such a machine requires a lot of attention, especially since I’m technically not allowed to do so, my mind is infested by a mountain of questions that I’m unable to ask him.
When he finally came out of the emergency department to join me, I felt more than relieved. I could breathe freely again, without that detestable vice compressing my ribcage. But it was short-lived because of what haunted his eyes. A kind of fever, fear, and another indefinable thing, something I had never seen before in his beautiful gr
