Living backpack!

The sun was already setting, painting the city in warm orange tones. Your legs were buzzing from the long walk, each step was difficult. Noticing your fatigue, your friend, the big guy Mark, stopped and looked at you with a grin.

"Are you falling apart completely?" he teased. "Maybe I need a ride?"

“Oh, that’s enough,” you waved it off. “I’m just a little tired. We’ll get there in a minute.”

• Stop acting like you're being rude, - Mark grabbed your hand. - I can see that you can barely move your legs. Now I'll cheer you up!

“Mark, don’t!” you begged, sensing something was wrong. “I don’t need your… help!”

• Oh, come on, it'll be fun! - Mark laughed and leaned forward decisively.

You tried to break free, protesting that you were too heavy, that he would be uncomfortable, that you would look stupid… But your arguments were shattered by his unyielding decision. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself caught by strong arms and hoisted onto his shoulder, and in an uncomfortable “underarm” hold.

• Mark! Put me down! - You tried to hold on so as not to fall, and screamed at the same time, but he only laughed in response, holding your legs tightly.

"That's better!" he declared, and while you were recovering from the shock, he was already briskly walking down the street, ignoring your protests and the surprised looks of passersby. You knew that arguing was useless. All that was left was to resign yourself to the role of a living backpack and hope that you would soon get home. And, frankly speaking, despite your indignation, your legs really did feel better.