The clinic was packed. Miller waited for the crowd to thin out at least a little bit, ignoring Klein's antsy fidgeting. He hated regular wheelchairs.

"Look who it is," Klein said.

They were finally exiting the building. The lawyer, or Mecedes, as Miller nicknamed her, was pacing along the sidewalk, Motorola StarTAC to her ear, with a perturbed look on her face. Klein waved. She looked at him as if he'd tried to steal her purse. She almost looked like she was about to shrug, but she turned sharply and started shouting into her phone about her daughter being much too young for something.

Klein was glum, not saying a word while Miller wheeled him through the parking lot to his van. His knee was sore, but not more than normal. His wrist however was tight and developing a worrisome throb. He rubbed for a minute before helping Klein into his seat and stowing the chair.

"I don't know why we can't take your regular chair," Miller said as he drove. "Who cares if they make a fuss."

"It just doesn't make sense," Klein said. "They're always crowded so I don't blame them for wanting me in a smaller chair. It's easier."

"For everyone but me."

Klein was quiet for a minute. "You don't have to take me. I can get my sister to do it."

"Because that always goes so well."

Klein was quiet for a minute. "I'm not wearing it."

"I never said you had to."

"I'm not a fu..."

"Hey!" Miller's nails bent from gripping the steering wheel too tight. "No one's making you do anything. We're gonna keep using the mop and getting you cream for the rash."

"Can we not talk about it?"

Miller held back a laugh, and not a happy one. "You're the one who brought it up."

Klein was quiet.

"Hey," Miller said, "c'mon buddy, what's really buggin' ya?"

"Mercedes."

"What? The attorney gal?"

"I thought she was nice. I was wrong."

Miller laughed. "You gonna tell me why?"

"You saw her back there. She didn't even recognize me."

"And why would she?"

Klein scoffed and shook his head. "We recognized her. Besides, she should have at least recognized me."

"Yeah? What makes you so special?"

"She helped me. You should recognize people you help."

Miller waited for a few seconds, even though he already knew his reply. Klein got indignant sometimes when it seemed he wasn't giving their conversations much thought.

"Maybe," Miller said, "maybe, she helps so many people that she has a hard time keeping track."

Klein looked thoughtful for a moment, likely a return of Miller's gesture.

"I doubt it," he said.

"Why's that?" Miller asked.

"Her law firm's sign. They're a corporate firm. They don't care about people. Just money."

Miller was quiet for a minute, this time really thinking. He wanted to mention what he heard her say over the phone, but didn't want Klein to think he was arguing with him.

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"Well," Miller said, "I suppose people like her aren't in the habit of noticing people like you and me. Now what in..."

They pulled in the driveway, rounded the curve, and there in Miller's spot was Mr. Wilson's mint green Lincoln. Miller stopped by the car port, dug his nails into the steering wheel, then looked around. Mr. Wilson's spot was empty. He sighed and shook his head, then pulled up by their apartment and put on his hazards.

"Come on," he said before getting out the van. Klein unbuckled himself.

And there was Mr. Wilson, ready to start shouting about him blocking the road.

"Mr. Wilson," Miller said, "I'm just helping my roommate into his chair. Obviously I won't be..."

"Well I can see that!" Mr. Wilson shouted. "Can't you do that in your parking spot?!"

"Someone's in my parking spot, Mr. Wilson. Know anything about that?"

"Of course not!" The old man was turning red. He raised a finger, ready to shout some more, but Miller squared up with him and raised his finger first.

"If you want me to park in my spot, then get your car out of it. But either way, you quit yelling at me. You hear?"

The quiet was thick, until Miller noticed the muffle of Mrs. Wilson's voice from inside their place. She was shouting more obscenities than Miller had heard anywhere since Woodstock. The words in between the profanity churned his stomach. Mr. Wilson's face no longer looked angry.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" Miller asked, his voice much softer now.

Mr. Wilson turned red again and started to shake. "You can quit blocking the road!"

Miller sighed, then helped Klein into his chair, then into their apartment, then went back to the van to go find a guest spot. The old Chihuahua was yelling and shaking his fist the whole time. When Miller got inside, his knee and palms were sore, so he went to the bathroom to get his wrap, and after wrapping his knee he trimmed his nails. When he came out he sat on the couch. Klein had his beat up Kyocera out and was talking to the apartment manager.

"It was awful," Klein said. "I felt threatened. I know he's old but, I can't even walk. What happens if I'm outside alone and he comes after me? I just don't feel safe with that man around. Yeah, he's here. Hold on."

Miller took the phone. "Hi, Ms. Coolidge. Yeah, he was makin' quite a stir. I know. Alright. I will. Thank you. You as well." he handed Klein his phone. "You don't gotta make it sound worse than it is."

"It's bad enough," Klein said.

"Yeah. He gets worse every couple of weeks, it seems. Still, we don't need to add to it. Plenty of other people complain. We don't need to be drawing any heat on us." His eyes darted to the bedroom, where Klein slept. He looked at Klein then, who'd sunk as far into his chair as he could sink. Miller couldn't stand it.

"That settles it," Miller said. "We're going to a movie."

Klein perked up, corners of his mouth twitching. Then he sunk again. "Can you afford it? It's too late for the matinee."

"We sure can afford it. And you can thank Rosa for that. In fact, we'll even get hot dogs."

Klein sat back up. "Okay. Thank you, Miller."

They went to the drive-in, got hot dogs, then drove back, and it all went so smoothly Miller was feeling nervous. Klein was a little bummed out that the creature feature was canceled in favor of Footloose, but he was happy to hang out. They were half way home when he changed the subject from the film's genre.

"Can I ask you something?" Klein said.

"You just did," Miller answered.

Klein let out one of his non-smiling laughs. "Do you like being retired?"

Miller thought for a minute. "Yes and no."

Klein nodded. "What's the 'yes'?"

"Well, I like not having to carry all those heavy loads around. I don't miss any of my bosses. And I like being able to take my time in the mornings."

Klein nodded, then was quiet. Miller would have thought nothing of the silence were it not for the waves of pensiveness coming from Klein. Klein finally spoke again.

"What's the 'no'?" he asked.

"Oh, I suppose I miss the crew. You work with people long enough, you get attached. And I suppose I got used to the sounds and the smells. And I miss being thinner. Not that I ever had a beach bod or anything."

Klein seemed relieved. "I wish I could go to an office and work."

"How's the headhunting going?"

Klein nodded. "Good. I've placed three candidates that made it past ninety. I have a few more leads I wanna follow up on, too, and if just one of them pans out I'll get my bonus."

"Sounds like you're knockin' it out of the park."

They were pretty quiet the rest of the drive. It was dark, and Klein liked quiet drives at night, taking in the lights of other cars. He told Miller once it made him feel happy to imagine what lives the people in the other cars were living. Miller couldn't understand that, Thinking about other people's lives tended to bring him down.

Klein was pretty tired, so Miller helped him to bed as soon as they got back. He found an empty guest spot pretty close, which was fortunate as his wrist was almost as bad as his knee. He watched some TV before converting the couch and laying down to read. It was a day, he supposed, with good and bad, and when he found himself dozing off without hearing any sign of Klein's DTs, he thought to himself that days and nights had become separate things altogether. He had to split them apart, or else he'd never have a good version of either one. He hoped he didn't have to split time up any more than he already had in order to feel good about things. And then he felt sad, remembering the part he left out of his answer to Klein's last question. More than anything, he missed not having to keep such close track of when the good days and nights happened.