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Forty yards above Calle Salinas
Corey positioned himself a tad sideways, pretending oblivious,
hoping the pulsing artery in his neck would not give him away.
He could hear the crunching scrabbly sound of Greta's boots approaching.
Her bootsteps sounded fast and purposeful, almost angry.
She saw the blood first.
"What the Sam Hey is goin' on!", she hoarsly tried to shout.
"I'm thirsty, you look a mess, are you okay?, shit, Corey...shit, tell me what I can do."
Corey was weary and tired of pretense.
He handed Greta his canteen and told her to sit.
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