@erinwilliamsrp
Luke was sitting alone at a booth in the Greasy Spoon thinking to himself. He was remembering some of the good times back in B-more—that is before shit hit the fan—of the study sessions and friends made both at the university and outside. Back then, plans were that he’d just stay in the area, maybe open a practice or two in Baltimore and DC, or just anywhere in between. The DMV area was home and he was eager to serve everyone he could. Hell, INOVA had a great rep as a nonprofit medical group and he was more than willing to relocate to Northern Virginia.
Anyways, distracted, he didn’t realize his coffee had just been refilled and that he hadn’t quite brought it up to his mouth when tilting it forward, causing the steaming bean juice to run down the front of his shirt onto his groin, burning him mildly as it did. “Shit.” Quickly, he’d placed—more like, dropped from a few inches above the table—the mug onto the tabletop and stood up. He’d yanked more than a dozen napkins from the dispenser to quickly clean the coffee off of him.