I get back to my apartment fifty-five minutes after calling him, weary from lugging my bags and just plain unwell. I tried to walk fast but my legs could not handle the effort and as my battery died on my phone, I couldn't even alert him to the fact I was moving slowly. I have a low fever which I know will spike to knock me on my back soon enough and just need to get in and lie down as soon as earthly possible.
I pause by the black four-by-four in the street, parked on the edge of the pavement, and look around because it is so out of place in this downtrodden area, among the crappy cars held together by duct tape. It's too modern and s******g new to be from this neighbourhood, so I guess Mico is already here and upstairs, which gives me a boost of calm. I guess he will be more than likely
