You know you've had too much to drink when you start telling people stories that start with "You know you've had too much to drink when...". You know your date is about to be an ex when he spends your date talking about exes. And you know you've been shot in the stomach when you're lying in the gutter trying to scream in terror because jealous looking rats are watching the rain water carry your crimson life from your shoes to the drain. Actually, you probably already knew well before that, granted, but the rats certainly drive the point home.

"Are you going to eat this?"

Miles goggled wanly at the dark mist around him. He wasn't shocked that he was hearing things. That much seemed about par for the course. The thing he found surprising was that he was hearing things so calmly. Or rather, the things he was hearing seemed calm. Almost pacific. Not calming. Certainly not. But then it would have been hard to imagine something genuinely calming at this particular juncture.

"Because, no offense, but if you're letting a hot pastrami this excellent go to waste just because you're no longer capable of retaining fluids you're a fucking idiot."

Miles frowned. He had, in fact, had a very nice hot pastrami sandwich in his hand a few minutes previously. That he had forgotten about it seemed to him a forgiveable offense, but now that he was reminded of it, there was insult to go with the injury -- the rats would probably get that, too.

"Shit," said Miles, weakly. "I was looking forward to that."

"Hey, look pal, I'm not trying to steal your sandwich, I just don't like waste. If you want it, you're more than welcome to it."

This was beginning to feel eerily like a conversation. Miles considered expiring in retaliation but despite a remarkably acute degree of pain, he didn't really feel all that dead just yet, so he suspiciously glared in the direction of his fallen dinner, which was not in fact lying on the ground where he had painstakingly dropped it.

"You're not going to die." The creature looked down at him from it's perch on the park bench tentatively. "People in your position always seem irritated that I didn't tell them that earlier in the process, so I'm turning over a new leaf."

Miles stared thoughtfully at the sandwich for a couple of seconds and then turned a shrewdly pointed gaze on the gently furred creature on the bench. "Shit," he repeated. "I was looking forward to that."

Everdil squinted down at him thoughtfully and then took a careful, but purposeful, bite out of the pastrami sandwich. He licked his paw and swiped his face twice in rapid succession, and then chewed at the bite of sandwich jerkily, a few crumbs of rye bread tumbling to the sides unnoticed.

"Gonna hurt like a motherfucker for a couple of days, though."

"I appreciate your optimism," said Miles agreeably from his hunched pile of posture, "but with all due respect, what the fuck do you know?" Miles emphasized his point by coughing something that looked pretty important onto the street.

"Less and less," said 'Dil, nodding sadly. "Less and less. But I've picked up a couple of things along the way, so you'd do well to not dismiss me just yet."