The Day before forever..... Sirens, coffee and deadlines.

Horns honk and the chaos of the city play like a CD skipping. The smell of the city is a mix of exhaust, stagnant air swirling against the concrete buildings and fresh baked goods

The alarm clock screamed like it was possessed, and I smacked snooze so hard I’m pretty sure it developed abandonment issues. If I’d known it was my last day alive, you’d think I’d have sprung out of bed, seized the day, embraced life.

Yeah… no. I rolled over, groaned, and considered just dying in my sleep to save time. Spoiler: fate had the same idea, just less convenient scheduling.

Coffee helped. Barely. The old machine coughed up a cup of liquid asphalt that could strip paint off a car. First sip burned my tongue. Second sip burned my soul. Third sip… made me human enough to put on pants.

I thought it was just another Tuesday.

Funny thing, though — sirens have a way of proving you wrong.

The wailing of the soul in front of me snaps me from yet another flashback.

Same sound. Different lifetime.

I’m standing in an alley now, collecting the soul of some accountant whose browser history is going to keep HR busy for weeks. Poor guy’s still clutching his laptop like Q4 projections mean anything in the afterlife.

And then I hear them. Sirens.

Ambulance tearing through the city, lights ricocheting off puddles, engine howling like it’s trying to outrun death itself. My head turns before I even realize I’ve moved — muscle memory from a life I don’t have anymore.

For a second, I swear I can taste that bitter coffee and adrenaline all over again.

Steve stares into oblivion. Disassociating into a flashback

It was 8:30 AM, and I’d already patched up two fender benders and a guy who fainted on the subway. My partner wouldn’t shut up about his fantasy football draft, and I was mentally drafting my own obituary.

Something felt… off. Not heartburn — I know heartburn. No, this was deeper. A pressure in the air. Like the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for the punchline to land.

I didn’t know it yet, but I was the joke.

The whimpering of the pour broken soul in my grasp snaps me back to my current day

The accountant’s soul looks at me like I’m supposed to say something profound. I don’t. I’m not that kind of reaper. I just point toward the portal and mutter something about “better management upstairs.” HR loves when I say stuff like that.

I’m halfway across the street when the second ambulance screams past, even closer this time. Same sound, same weight, same ghosts stitched into it.

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? All the training, all the contracts, all the HR memos about “maintaining emotional detachment” — and yet, one siren can still gut me like the day I died.

I wander aimlessly towards the break room, hoping that I can coax the keurig haunted by the spirit of Joan Rivers into giving me a much needed cup. I don't feel feelings anymore, but the sirens....the sirens aren't leaving me today.

By 11:47 AM, my stomach was whispering sweet nothings to the turkey sandwich in the cooler. Provolone. Extra mustard. That sandwich was the only thing I had to live for.

Dispatch crackled. Multiple injuries. Scene unsafe. Units requested.

I hesitated, but only because I was debating whether I could inhale the sandwich in three bites. Spoiler: I couldn’t. I buckled up, shoved the cooler aside, and answered the call.

It was just another Tuesday.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Spoiler alert.......

It was't......