The next morning Libbie was sore. Her face had blossomed with airbag bruises, but those didn’t hurt much and her lip wasn’t as swollen.
“Send me home”, she insisted. “I’ll hurt no matter where I am, but I’ll hurt more comfortably at home.”
She didn’t think she had a lot of stuff, but boxing it up had thought her otherwise.
When you’re old, warm feels good. Good to the bones.