So the slime, not slime, goes to the 2nd floor with a sofa…

My dad asked me, out of the goodness of my heart, to help him carry a sofa he bought to the 2nd floor of his office. His office, on the 2nd floor, rather. Of an office building.

It seems that if I did that, he would have exploited me.

It seems that way.

Can it be true?

He’s so slimey.

But only when you accuse him so.

Mother knows.

It’s unfortunate.

Some things are best left alone…

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