Sam was paying the cashier at the diner when it hit, a wave of searing panic that swept over him as he was pulling out his wallet.
"You okay, sweetie?"
Sam nodded, but didn't look up. Hands shaking so badly he knew the woman could see, he handed her a couple of bills and turned for the door, abandoning his change.
By sheer force of will, he managed to get himself into the Impala without dropping their dinner; then, struggling for breath, he huddled in the front seat and tried not to pass out.
Not Tuesday.
Not Tuesday.
Not Tuesday.