When the man had started to talk her eyes instantly looked up at him in wonder, and she nodded as she found her fingers moving to hang up her call. Her chest still hurt, but as she watched the man getting into her cab she found enough energy to stand up quickly and say.<br/><br/>"Wh-What? You want a ride?! How am I supposed to see out a shattered fucking window!" somewhere in that sentence her voice had cracked and turned to anger. Showing the spit fire she could be...Her father had always called her that...a spit fire. She reluctantly however got into the cab and dug in the glove box finding her inhaler and taking a deep breath before administering the medication. It seemed like a few seconds before her lings stopped aching and burning from the lack of oxygen and she gave a sigh and looked back at her passenger. Jean blinked, hadn't the guy been bleeding from his forehead? ...God he was filthy, and he said he had been living in a warehouse?<br/><br/>"73rd...Right? Why wouldn't you just go to a homeless shelter huh? At least there's a free meal there," clenching her jaw as she turned back around to stare out the spider web cracked windshield. "Right...Sorry, guess I do owe you..." all the while she thought, I'm so getting fired for this. Her hand gripped the gear shift as she put the Cab in drive and swerved out from behind the car of a wide eyed spectator. "Well...at least it isn't a hit and run...right?" her eyes darted to the rearview mirror to look at the man, wondering what kind of humor the man would have after being ran over.<br/><br/>However, the drive hadn't taken long, and the emergency crew gave no chase, but now Jean had the sinking feeling she would be having an investigation put on her Orr something, a false call to the emergency hotline, driving away from the scene with the victim...That wad a crime right? Or could you even kidnap a homeless man? So much was buzzing around int the poor woman's head that she slammed on her breaks when she about missed the turn for the Warehouse.<br/><br/>The place was a dump, it was nestled between an old garage and what appeared to be a slum apartment complex, two alleyways to thin for her cab lay on either side of the warehouse, both littered with old newspapers, garbage, and those 50 gallon cans you saw hobos make fires in, in the movies. Jean looked back at the man then to the dark and broken windows of the building. Rust stains from the construction leaked down the metal siding from years of oxidation, when finally she spoke...<br/><br/>"Hey, Sir...Are you sure you're going to be fine?" kindness was in her voice as she looked him in the eyes and frowned with concern for the guy she had hit.