“Can I help you?” I looked at his wheelchair as it approached the car.
“I just want to take a ride,” he said, opening the door and climbing swiftly from his wheelchair into the car seat.
“Please put my wheelchair in the trunk of the car. Thank you,” he said from the back seat to me standing outside. “Press the red button and the wheelchair will automatically be folded.”
I don't know how to refuse his easy-going attitude. Through the glass, he kept urging me, “Hurry up!”
So I reluctantly moved the wheelchair into the trunk of the car according to his request. When I sat in the passenger seat, he could not wait to say to the driver, “Go to the starry sky bar.”
The driver started the car at once, and I happened to see two servants running out of the manor as if they were looking for something.
“They're looking for you, aren't they?” I looked sideways at Iverson.
