you can’t just drive down the mountain yourself like you did yesterday. Your legs don’t bend well enough after dialysis to push the pedals. You know this. I’ll slash the fucking tires on your car if you do that again. First responders don’t need to deal with the aftermath of your stubborn bullshit.” My eyes bounce between them as Clyde scoffs and waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “I’d like to see you try.” “Are you two related?” I blurt, entertained by the grumpy-man face-off. “Fuck no,” Bash mutters, but Clyde lets out a high-pitched giggle, like he’s amused by the other man.
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