I knelt down next to Benjamin. Blood stained his shirt on the left side. I applied pressure with a hand towel that someone threw me from the counter.

"I'm dying," he stammered, dazed.

"Shut up," I said. "Breathe with me."

He obeyed, as if the habit of the past still had a secret route to his chest.

Sirens pierced the air. The police arrived. Paramedics arrived. The attacker fell amid a flurry of hands and handcuffs. Benjamin was lifted onto a stretcher, and my towel lay silently on the ground.