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me those drinks at Smith Commons after too, you crazy bastard.
    I took one last look at Cole and turned away. I reached the elevator and the doors opened. Inside, a younger, female nurse pressed the button for the third floor and glancing at me in my hospital gown, she pressed the lobby button for me.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    She smiled, “You’re welcome. It’s an honor to be in the same elevator as you, Mr. Marina.”
    I shook my head smiling and turned to her. “Now, why is that?”
    “Because you are brave. You and Cole both. I was in District 1, too. I remember seeing you and him sitting cross-legged in the grass during lunches. At the time, you were just strangers, but now, that memory is a fond one.”
    “Why didn’t you come talk to us?” I asked playfully.
    The elevator reached her floor, and as the door opened, she turned to face me.
    “Because I knew I would be interrupting greatness. I will never forget the passion, the intensity, on both of your faces. I could tell you two weren’t just complaining about how shitty the Confinement was, like everyone else. You were plotting a solution .”
    I was dumbfounded from her explanation. Such a sharp memory this nurse had. I didn’t even recognize her face. The doors began to close, and I quickly stuck my hand in front of the sensor to stop them.
    “Thank you for everything you have done, Mr. Marina. Everyone in this hospital is on edge, worrying about the health of Mr. Pavich. We will do our best, I promise you that.”
    “Thank you…” I said just as the doors closed, and I lost sight of the angel-faced nurse.
    When I reached the ground floor, I smiled, thinking about the effect I have had on people I had never even met. That in itself was more valuable than any form of monetary wealth. It made me feel rich—richer in soul—a feeling no corporate billionaire has ever had the chance of knowing.

     
    Chatter surrounded me. The bold, aromatic smell of coffee wafted in the air. I sat alone at a two-top table against the wall and fiddled with the remains of a spinach and feta quiche. I barely had an appetite. The pain pills were still wearing off. I clasped the ceramic handle gently and sipped my Café Au Lait. Its lukewarm contents helped revive me from the sluggish sedation I was in last night. Every few seconds I felt the same, shooting pain in my abdomen. The left side of my jaw was swollen and bruised. I assumed I received that when the smoke from the bombs caused me to black out.
    When I drove my bike away from the hospital, just a short while ago, I felt empty, like I was leaving behind strands of myself, and all I was left with was a pile of loose ends in my lap. My mind was still so jumbled. I was trying to piece together the recollection of last night’s events. The only things I could remember were the conversation with Veronica and Marc, and watching the debate. Then, I saw the unfamiliar man to my right. The bombs exploded before I could reach security and tell them. I wondered if he was the terrorist that planted the bombs.
    The TV mounted in the corner of the shop was set to CNN. They were playing the same loop of footage from the cameras filming the debate when the bombs went off. I could barely stomach the sounds of the screams in sync with the explosions. It was horrifying to replay in my mind. I took another sip of coffee—my mug was empty.
    I stood up and went to the counter. Today was definitely a two-cup kind of morning.
    “How can I help you?” the barista asked.
    “I’ll have another Café Au Lait, please.”
    “Cold or steamed milk?”
    “Cold, thank you.”
    She turned around and prepared my drink. I tried to focus on the sounds of the liquid and ignore the newscast playing behind me.
    When she returned, she pushed the drink towards me.
    “That will be $2.88, please.”
    I reached for my wallet and pulled out the money to hand her.
    “You look familiar. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” the barista