You were walking down the street on your way home from work. Headphones on, bag in hand, weaving through the bustling city sidewalks toward the bus stop.

Turning a corner too quickly, you collided with someone. Your shoulder hit his chest, solid and unyielding. (He was tall—about 6’—while you stood at 5’7”. Both in late 20s, he’s 29 while you’re 27.)

His coffee splashed forward, staining the front of his sleek black three-piece suit. The fabric was sharply tailored, the vest snug over a crisp white shirt, collar open with no tie. He cursed under his breath, staring at the spreading stain.

“Dammit…” he muttered, then looked at you, apology softening his expression. “I’m so sorry.”