The big fella had on size thirteen or so boots. He’d be a slow klutz if it came to it, and once Damien got Sarah’s attention, she’d surely call her hounds off. With little thought, his hand was on the railing, a foot prepared to hop over.

“The illustrious Dr. Whibley?”

The voice snapped him out of it, his hand untensing. The bouncer rolled his eyes and slunk back a little bit. Illustrious. Damien hadn’t heard that teasing voice in three years, back before he got his wits about him and left academia for good.

Standing behind him was Michael Flint, one of these new breeds of doctors. The schools had been trying ways to make them more relatable to patients, so now we had these greasy, chin-length hair surgeons with their sleeves of tattoos. This one added on a leather vest and ripped blue jeans. At his arm was his wife, or girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever. “Nice to see you outside for once. You finally pawn off all that paperwork?” said Flint.

That was another thing about these kids. They were always trying to razz you. Let your guard down, they’d treat you like a green-cadet. “Haven’t done much since the University and I parted ways.”

“Never saw you as the private practice type. But with the IRS breathing down your neck, I can’t imagine that’s any less admin work?”

“You should recall I prefer brevity in my write-ups.”

“You always had a knack for putting nothing in the chart,” he said. If Damien still could, he’d put the kid on call for a week for that remark. Still, Flint went along with introducing his woman next. She looked vain enough, so Damien gave her his card in case she ever wanted new cheekbones. “What are you doing here? I never took this as your scene?” Flint said.

Perhaps in silent jealousy, Damien smoothed back his receding hairline. “I should say the same. You’re a fellow, now, aren’t you? Surprised you have time for these sorts of incursions.”

“I’m out here every week, Dr. Whibley.”

“You didn’t wash out, did you?”

“Time management was always my big skill, you know.”

“What schedules are they giving you nowadays?”

“Volumes are up, if anything. As long as I wrap up my cases for the week, I’m free to do anything. You could leave early, too, if you just let the Ambient Scribe write your charts.”

“I do a lot more than just paperwork.”

“Well. There’s ways around that too.” His wife was pulling on his arm now. “Especially now that everyone’s on the Surge platform.”

“That old soft drink?”

“Nah, the automated operation companion.”

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