Seriously, we’re not taxis

Code 2 for the illness.

“RP said she will meet you in front of the address.”

We turn onto the street. No sign of anyone in front of the residence, which is a boarding house for people with psychiatric issues.


I walk up, poke my head around, and then into the open front door. She’s inside the residence, gathering her stuff.

“Please come on out.” Mostly because now that I was told she’d be outside, I’m too lazy to go in. Or get my gear, for that matter.

She comes out, sets her 2 pieces of luggage at the door, locks her door and walks over.

“Get my bags.”

“No, I’m not the bellhop. Get it yourself.” I stand my ground.

Or you can ask nicely.


My partner rescues the situation by grabbing one of her bags.

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