Jill follows the signs (and smells) to a metal door that takes a little effort to open, several dumpsters aligned to catch the garbage from the trash chutes. Someone's abandoned a metal bedframe, complete with yellowed mattress with springs sticking through the top.
It smells like piss.
"If all else fails..." she says, and there's so little humor in her voice these days when speaking to Clive it might be a little hard to tell she's joking.
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"Your back will appreciate that, I'm sure," she tells him. And his sanity.
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“I pray it doesn’t come to that,” he says. “But no matter. I’ll think of something.”
He follows behind her, slower with his arms full.
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It smells like piss.
"If all else fails..." she says, and there's so little humor in her voice these days when speaking to Clive it might be a little hard to tell she's joking.
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“Then what?” he clarifies, curious.
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She hurriedly steps around him to leave.
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She chooses a direction and heads off, not glancing back to see if Clive follows. She knows he is.