38. Pain (Germany)
You were late for a meeting. Rushing across the street, maneuvering around people in your way, you tripped on the curb and fell to the ground, landing on your knees, hands catching your upper half.
A man comes over to you, "Are you okay?" You recognized the voice, but hoped that it wasn't him.
You look up at him, hoping your suspicions were incorrect, but of course, they weren't. "Yes. I'm fine." You stand up, the pain in you foot was almost unbearable. When you tried to step, your knee briefly gave out on you, but Ludwig caught you before you could fall again.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
You sigh in irritation, "No, my foot is killing me."
"Let's go over here out of the way of traffic," he said, hitching an arm around you and helping you limp over to the bench along the side of the building. You sit down on the bench and pull your foot up onto your knee, and flinch in pain.
"Here, let me look at it," Ludwig said. You put you legs up on the bench, letting him examine your foot. "It's definently broken. Your ankle anyways."
"Damnit. I have somewhere to be."
"Come on. Let's get you to a doctor, that needs a cast."
By the time you got to the doctor's and got a cast, the meeting was long over.