Dale is dead. He's not breathing. His face is blue. There's a cap at his shoulder, a needle at his elbow. He used a speaker cord as a tie-off.
I pull out the narcan from my med bag, remove the packaging, and put the expelling end in his nose. I press the plunger.
In a five count, Dale breathes. It's snorting, snoring breath, but he's breathing.
By the time fire arrives, I canned the rig and pulled his ID from his pocket.
They give him an IV and two more doses down the line.
Twenty-five minutes later, he's awake and talking, lucky his "date" called dispatch to keep him alive.