The orthopaedic surgeon I work for was moving to a new office, and his staff was helping transport many of the items. I sat the display skeleton in the front of my car, his bony arm across the back of my seat.
I had not considered the drive across town. At one traffic light, the stares of the people in the car beside me became obvious, and I looked across and explained, “I’m delivering him to my doctor’s office.”
The other driver leaned out of his window. “I hate to tell you, lady,” he said. “But I think it’s too late!”