Holes

"Okay, gonna be a poke here," I said, as the ambulance bumped down the road.

"Is it going to hurt?" he asked, apprehensively, looking at the IV needle in my hand.

I lowered it for a second, looked him in the eye, grinned wryly. "Bro," I said, "You just got shot."

"Oh yeah," he replied, carefully supporting his bandaged, grazed hand, adjusting his legs to avoid putting pressure on the superficial, in-and-out wound on his calf.

"Alright," he muttered to himself as the needle went in. "I'm strong. I'm strong."

"Yeah," I told him, smiling, trying to put him at ease, attaching the IV tubing. "Yeah, you are, and you're gonna be just fine."