We’re driving around Coney Island on a hot, sticky Sunday, eating burgers from one of the Greek food counters that have been around since the 1950s and apparently haven’t cleaned their plastic food displays since then.

“Your people,” my partner, Bronson, says, chewing.

“My people,” I say, “sure can flip a hamburger.”

He points at the bun. “You’re saying thousands of years of philosophy, mathematics, and architecture have gone into this cholesterol burger?”

“You’re right,” I sigh, sad for my fellow immigrants. “Looks like they built the Parthenon and then called it a day.”

As we’re cruising slowly down Surf Avenue licking our greasy fingers, we get flagged down by a couple of cops. Sitting near them on the concrete with his legs splayed out, leaning like a rag doll against the chain-link fence surrounding the electric go-karts, is a Hispanic male, about 45 years old.

“Probably heat exhaustion,” I tell Bronson, grabbing a couple of chemical ice packs from the back of the bus.

The cops say they found him like this. They don’t know his name or what happened. Bronson tries to ask him a few questions, but he doesn’t respond; he just blinks at us, his mouth hanging open and drool pooling on his bare, bony chest. I punch the ice packs with my fist and apply one to his neck and the other to his groin, where his major arteries are. But his forehead doesn’t feel very hot, and he’s not sweating.

Bronson walks him into the ambulance, where we turn the air conditioner to high.

“Roberto!” an overweight female bystander suddenly shouts, coming toward us. She’s extremely large, and the ambulance rocks as she steps up into it.

“Do you know him?” Bronson asks.

“I just met him an hour ago. But God loves him.” She takes out a handful of cheaply printed pamphlets and showers him with them. They scatter across the stretcher and spill to the floor.

I shout, “Roberto, can you hear me?”

His eyes focus on mine.

“Do you have any medical problems? High blood pressure?”

He smiles and nods.

“Diabetes?”

He nods again. This is useless.

Bronson asks, “Do you speak English?”

He nods. I throw up my hands. “He’s going to nod for everything.”

“Do you have any ID?” Bronson reaches into the man’s pockets and finds a wallet and a plastic medicine bottle. It’s square, with pastel-orange liquid inside. I open it up and sniff. Methadone.

Roberto’s eyes close again.

“Roberto!” I shake him. “You on heroin?”

He smiles and nods again.

“Did you shoot up today?”

He slurs, “Si.”

I check his eyes with my light. Pinpricks. “Do you have any needles on you?” He’s free to flirt with hepatitis and AIDS if he wants to, but I don’t want to get stuck.

He shakes his head slowly, “No mas.”

Methadone alone wouldn’t cause this kind of euphoria. And since I have no way of knowing how much heroin he took, I call for medics. All around me, kids are squirting water guns and winning stuffed animals, adults are eating fried clams. I don’t want an overdose on my hands in the middle of Coney Island.

Medics show up and inject Roberto with Narcan, a powerful anti-opiate. “Stand back!” they warn. Almost instantly, Roberto wakes up. His eyes open wide, he starts to sweat, and he’s suddenly thrashing and scrambling to get off the stretcher, sending the religious pamphlets flying.

The fat woman recoils and jumps down off the ambulance. “God loves you!” she shouts, before running away.

The Narcan has saved Roberto’s life, but it’s ruined his high. Almost immediately, he starts cramping and vomiting: instant heroin withdrawal.

Outside, parents are buying children ice cream cones. By the boardwalk, ladies are sunbathing and kids are splashing in the water. People are riding the Wonder Wheel and the Cyclone, looking down on this scene from way up on high and perhaps thinking our ambulance looks small and insignificant, the people around it just like tiny ants.

Ms. Klopsis is an emergency medical technician for the FDNY.This column details her observations and experiences on the job. Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of patients.