Armed with my extra limbs, a heavily bandaged ankle, and a box of painkillers that could tranquilize an elephant, I hop-clack my way to the entrance. The painkillers are kicking in. Having plenty of experience with them, I know I need to get myself home before I pass out.
I get as far as the lobby before it hits me—how the fuck am I going to get home? I fumble through my bag in an attempt to find my phone. Realizing I have no service, I start to swing my leg between my crutches when I crash into a body.
Unlike the last time I crashed into someone, I manage to splay my crutches out to brace my fall. “Fuck, I’m sorry!” I exclaim. The poor person is wearing their coffee.
Of course it’s him.
He looks down at his coffee-covered shirt, sighing. “Karma” is all he says. Too high to care, I giggle before continuing my swing-hop-clack motion through the doorway.
“Hey, wait,” he calls, swatting at the coffee on his shirt. “Where are you going?”
Ooh, my brain feels seriously fuzzy. “The door,” I answer breathily. “I need to go through the door so I can go home. My home comes after the door.” This makes complete sense to me. Because I’m so smart, I giggle again.
I get to the entrance and look right. Then, I look left. “Where did I leave my apartment?” I wonder aloud.
A low chuckle sounds from behind me. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
I giggle. Heh. Ride. That’s what she said.
The Bulldozer snickers again.
What’s he laughing at?
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