Accidentally Fourth Street

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

A hispanic-looking dude with a goatee was in my face. It seemed more likely to me that he was an EMT than an angel. Among other things, he had a flashlight and was lacking in wings. Okay, fine. I closed my eyes again.

“Wait wait, hold on a second,” he said, as if it were important I stay awake long enough to sign a release form or something. But no, he was just being matter-of-fact. “You stay awake until we’re sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“People with concussions aren’t allowed to sleep?” I said groggily. “How do they ever get better, then?”

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