The night had been quiet – the station, too. I seized on the chance to sleep. And I did, until a late night – more like early morning – call from a local retirement home. One of the nicer ones.
A 95-year-old woke with slurred speech. Ready for transport.
Our role really that of the driver in cases like this. Even if the cause was nothing more than fatigue, the home took no chances. Once the call comes in, we comply. Suits, sirens, engines – on. Three minutes later, we arrived at the destination.
We entered through automatic doors. The air was cool. The atrium calming. Canary-yellow walls. I wondered if the residents had any say on the décor or color schemes.
A guard offered directions.
Up the stairs, turn right, take a quick left. Prepare yourselves. She’s a character.
Up the stairs,
