[ So. Pickles is like, one of those people that sees a maybe-dead person on the side of the road and thinks, "man, that's pretty fucking brutal, maybe I should take a picture of this and send it to my bandmates, who might get a kick out of it".

Which is exactly what he's doing right now. Next to a bloody and battered Heine who just crashed out of a third-story window, presumably because he chose to do it and not out of any foul play, which is a narrative that Pickles can be comfortable with.

So. He approaches the guy on the pavement leaking rust-red onto gravel, smartphone out and half-empty beer bottle set aside on a nearby trashcan. ]

Yoooo man... you okay there? Uh, don't answer if you're. Ya know. Dead.

[ His camera clicks. Fuck, it's on flash. ]

Ooh, fuck... sorry, ya gotta stay still for me for just a few more seconds, a'right? Ok... ok. Cool. Nice.