Michael bounced his right leg nervously as he sat in the sterile waiting room of his doctor's office. The unwelcoming white walls blinded him, and the smell of harsh cleaning solvents filled his nostrils. He hated going to the doctor, even if it was only for a routine visit. The idea that sick people had been in this same waiting room, resting their sick bodies on this same cheap furniture, unsettled him. He could almost feel the germs closing in on him, lingering on everything he touched, waiting to give him a cold or the flu or who knows what else. He shifted uneasily on the firm couch, the plasticky material squeaking against his jeans. Across from him, an elderly man in a wheelchair sat starting, and Michael gave him an unenthusiastic smile. The man's caregiver lounged next to him, flipping through a magazine. She looked so comfortable with the fact that her career as a nurse probably exposed her to every disease known to man. The tip-tap of the receptionist’s typing punctuated the low murmur of voices that was wafting in from the hallway. He always wondered what the nurses talked about before they came to collect their next victim. An ill patient? A problem with his paperwork? Or maybe just the latest hospital gossip. Michael pulled out his phone in an effort to distract himself, but the constant presence of the clock at the top of the screen made the time seem to tick by even more slowly. The hallway door opened with the woosh of hydraulics. A nurse stood in the doorway and shuffled through her file. "Michael Sherwood?" A pleasant voice called. Taking a deep breath, Michael rose from his only sanctuary and made his way into the fluorescent abyss.