The orthopedic 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 hadn’t 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!”