I looked up to see a non-threatening looking middle-aged man towering over me, looking at me through thick glasses. Pale, balding, pot-bellied, short, wearing a collared shirt and glasses, he looked like a cubicle jockey lost in the desert.

“Come on,” he said and then lifted me to his feet.

We walked together in a scene that looked like when a trainer helps an injured football player off of the field as we stumbled over to his older sedan.

I felt the weight of the world slink off of me when I sat down in the soft caress of his passenger seat. I could barely stay awake, hearing him start the engine, put the car in gear and start driving down the road. It was simply nearly impossible for me to keep my eyes open.

The last thing I could remember hearing was a familiar sound, familiar enough to where I wanted to open my eyes, but couldn’t. It took me a minute to put my finger upon what exactly the sound was and why it was familiar, but I eventually did and I immediately knew that it was all over for me.

It was the sound of my cell phone ringing.