“All right,” she said. “But something from a good grocery store,” she demanded.“My how the mighty have fallen. Grocery store wine how gauche...” I suggested with a laugh. She parked near the door and we got out of the car.“Give me your wallet,” a large black man with a pistol demanded, With my left hand I fumbled for the wallet, which had twenty odd dollars in it. It had no credit cards or Id of any kind. While his attention was on me going for the wallet in my pants, my right hand moved nearer. "We're just overworked," complained the woman. "We wouldn't actually do that. We'd call the county ... or something." She was visibly upset. "Usually, there are people who come to get patients." That's all I'm offering to do," said Bob. "The woman has been through hell and I, for one, am not going to let her be put out on the street, because you're overworked." Fine!" said the woman, just as heatedly. She stared at him, as if they were done."When might I expect a call, to come pick her up?" he. More

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