Taco Bell-Personal Narrative

As we stumbled into the line of the Taco Bell off of 41, I popped an Altoid in my mouth, hiding the vigorous scent of Fireball Whiskey. Next to me, our safety is rocking back and forth as a sweat trickled down his forehead.
The four of us stepped into line. The lady in front of me flinched as I overstepped and slightly crushed the corner of her clogs and her big toe. Leisurely, I backed out of line, to complete my task, returning moments later. Time froze in anticipation.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My foot continuously spazzed as I ordered my burrito.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The worker behind the greasy, black counter slid my burrito over me, meanwhile everyone turned as a woman’s screams filled the room.
“Someone call 911, my husband's not breathing.”
My eyes wandered around until they met with the blanched, soon to be widow. Coldly, I stared into her vibrant blue eyes, until she broke the contact, attention going back to her husband.
In the corner of the chain restaurant, a man was sitting on the booth, but as I looked up to see his face, there was a purply tone and veins that seemed to be surfacing on his face.
The store became hectic as the manager sprinted in attempt to help the man in the suit. A worker began the heimlich, but the man continued suffocating.
People from all directions were attracted to him like moths to a light, but the women seemed to gravitate towards the wife, to comfort her. A couple of ladies were holding hands with the victim's wife. Even though they were strangers, people were gathering together in unity, grasping onto each other in hugs, as tears were shed.
I’d been so absorbed in watching the chaos spread like wildfire that I forgot that I still hadn’t began to eat my