2.17a

He fell to the floor, panting in exhaustion. Never before had he cared so little about so much. His feet ached, his legs felt like rubber, his chest felt like fire, his heart felt like death itself, his head felt like a migraine, and his hands he couldn't feel at all.

He couldn't remember his work, or his children, or his wife, or his mother, or his bills, or his depression. He just sat and listened to the blood rush through his ears, thumping with a dull woosh twice every eternity as time slowed to a halt.

Run: it's good for you.