Forgotten

Feeler, Not a Thinker

I woke up and saw Angelo, with some envelopes, in his hands. I was on the signature couch we all hung out on. I had to sleep on it for the night, since Terry was still on mine after our "event."

I perked my head up off the spare pillow it was on, and pulled the blanket onto my side as I sit up and let my legs sag onto the carpet of the apartment floor. I turned to my left as Angelo started ripping the envelope open, by putting his sheer wrath onto the flap that closed it.

"What's that all about?" I asked whilst rubbing my eyes, of the yellow crust.

"It's about half of our whole damn mission, this is no joke, Austin," Angelo whispered.

"The identity change?" I asked.

"Yes, of cour--" Angelo pulled out his new drivers license and such.

He finally had a new identity. He was no longer the drug dealer from El Salvador everyone knew him to be. He wasn't Angelo fucking Camil. He was Angelo Martinez. Sweet name.

"Ugh, of all typical Hispanic names I get Martinez. I remember a prick from El Salvador named Martinez. Kid was worse than Juan," Angelo sighed.

"Someone worse than Juan? Fuck me, sounds like a shit time," I laughed in spite of his distaste at his name.

"Well, that's what happens when you're a rehabilitating drug dealer from El Salvador, who got shot while escaping on boat, and got saved by a kid you didn't even know at all," Angelo joked.

"Well hey, you're here now. Shepherd is dead, and you made some new friends. Could say there's been worse times," I add.

"Well that's a matter of perspective. Carlos is seriously improving, Ramir--" I cut off Angelo.

"I've heard the story plenty of times. Seems like Juan should just stay where he is, progress wise. That craziness could still make a return even if he did become a decent human being for once," I described Juan like I described myself, when I was on the brink of suicide.

That reminded me of someone important, the thought of Skylar's beautiful face, and Daniel's humor. I haven't talked or visited either of them in a while. Either way, I keep tight, and in touch with anyone whose still around.

I sent all the money from that night at Charata's to Randal and he thanked me for it, and I promised I'd send him more. Which I will soon enough. But I have things to attend to as well.

"Maybe you're right, Austin. Perhaps I should stop trying, and I won't need to worry about him dying," Angelo whispered.

"Looks like you're a poet, and you didn't even know it!" I joked about his hidden rhyme in his statement, and we both smiled. I stood up from the couch and got myself some water.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, water bottle in hand. Angelo looked a little different after that night we had. He looked a bit tired as if he was some sort of an insomniac. Dark circles under his eyes and the sorts.

"You alright?" I asked.

"I hadn't had such a rush in a while. Sure I had the prison break, but I thought that'd be the end of it. Now having to put a bullet in someone's head, while watching them die. In retrospect, it just brings back too many memories. Got me fucked up and all," Angelo explained.

"Don't wanna call you out, but you seem to reminisce a lot about your past in Central America. You alright?" I genuinely felt tired of hearing about his past.