Chest Pain - (two word challenge - abject opulence)

            Recognizing urgency in the knock, Paul forfeited his Nyquil induced reprieve. "Coming," he called, donning a sheet as he stumbled to the door.

            Lila greeted him with a puff of smoke, a sneer, and her telephone. "You look like hell. It's your mother."

            He listened to his mother and ignored Lila's rolling eyes. "Call the doctor. I'm on the way."

            Lila ditched her cigarette in a glass of water on the varnished stump Paul used as a coffee table and took back her phone. "Drop me at the mall on your way?"

            He nodded, flinched, clutched his jaw as pain exploded from his neck to his brain.

            "Tooth still hurt?" Lila asked. "When you gonna get that fixed?"

            "Soon." He returned to the bedroom, traded the sheet for a pair of jeans, stepped into shoes while he grabbed his keys, and headed out the door.

            Lila followed with a scowl. "You ain't gonna brush your teeth or hair?"

            "Her chest hurts." He started the engine. "Don't have time."

            Lila crawled in and slammed the passenger door. "You stink." She lit another cigarette.

            Paul stopped the engine, jumped out, ran a gas can and lawn-trimmer from the trunk to the porch, and returned, pain nearly blinding him now. "Got an extra smoke?" he asked, wiping his hands on his pants.

            "Thought you quit." She handed him her cigarette and lit another.

            "Need something to take the edge off this pain." He sucked relief into his lungs. "Had an appointment with the dental clinic this morning. Took six weeks to get in."

            He pulled into the mall lot. She slid out. "Hope you finish with your mom in time for the dentist."

            While waiting in line to exit the lot, his mother's voice rolled in. What you lack in brains, make up in kindness. You'll be fine. He shifted the car into park, grabbed a bag from the back seat, and jumped out to collect litter from the side of the road. Horns sounded but he ran a few feet farther to get a whiskey bottle and soda can, waving an apology as he returned to his car and sped off.

            Chest pain. He shouldn't have wasted time.

            He turned the corner, slid into the last car in a gridlock. Jaw throbbing, he jumped out to check on the passengers in the other car and slid, landing on the ground beside his front tire.

            "Stay away," the other driver yelled.

            He's drunk," the driver accused when the police arrived. "Came around the corner like a maniac, slammed into me, then staggered out fell down."

            Paul watched the officer and the woman walk to his car and look inside. "That your bottle?" The officer asked.

            "Looks like a pig sty," the woman said. "He's filthy. Look at his hair."

            "Sir, would you please stand?"

            Paul struggled to his feet. The woman fanned her face. "Smells like an ashtray.

            Chest pain. What you lack in brains, make up in kindness. Abject opulence.