“Maybe all I need is some fresh air,” he thinks as he crawls outside. Once outside, he tries to stand up again, but falls face first in the mud.
“Screw it,” he thinks. “I’ll just crawl home, then.”
The next morning, his wife finds him in the hallway, asleep. “You went out drinking last night, didn’t you?” she asks.
“How’d you know?” he replies, angered by the implications.
“You left your wheelchair at the bar again.”
