David Jones walked forward, albeit awkwardly, leaning on his crutches, his left leg wrapped securely in a cast. But nothing—not even an injury—could dampen his mood. He had been waiting for this day for as long as he could remember, and now that it was finally here, he wasn't going to let a broken leg slow him down.
"Hey, come on! We're going to be late!" he shouted at the man behind him, who was struggling to haul multiple suitcases from the cab, huffing and puffing as if he had just run a marathon.
Jonathan, his agent, groaned loudly, shooting him an exasperated look that could have melted steel. "Why do you even have this much luggage? Didn't you say you'd buy new clothes when you got here?"