What many people would be tempted to term a rut, Jack called a comfortable routine. He preferred the ease of knowing what to expect of things and was typically put in a particularly sour mood when anything happened to break his ‘routine’. A fact which had him intensely bothered at the moment, having had his shifts rearranged and skewing his entire week. He was accustomed to eating in the hospital cafeteria, but the poor mood had him seeking food elsewhere and he sat at one of the local restaurants, a book in one hand and a fork in the other, doing his best to appear unavailable.
He didn’t know why he expected it to work. He’d made the mistake of leaving the hospital still in his scrubs and they always managed to make him a target for people seeking medical advice. So as a shadow fell over him, Jack’s scowl deepened and he refused to look up. “If you want a consultation, the clinic is down the road. I’ve no interest in looking at your rash or bite or diagnosing whatever ailment it is you’ve convinced yourself you’ve got.”
