The thick black stitching zinged-zagged across the sun baked skin of Mr. Eastwood. Olivia draws herself back to survey her handy work from a distance.The older gentleman who would gave the name Clint Eastwood had found himself the victim of a drive-by shooting a week ago. The surgery to remove the pistol shell and reconstitute the damage done to his lower abdomen had taken Olivia quite a few hours. However, the good doctor was able to stitched Mr. Eastwood together like a human rag doll and sent him on his marry way. Until he stumbled into the clinic today with his stitches pulled open. 
Once the stitches have been looked over, Olivia covers the wound with fresh bandages and looks to the older man sternly. "I didn't realize horses were in such a abundance in L.A Mr. Eastwood, but I had assumed you knew horse riding fell under strenuous activity. Obviously I was wrong, So, this time I strongly I suggest taking the bus until that wound heals." With a wave of her hand, Olivia waves the delusional man out of the examine room just as a nurse appears at the door. 
"Someone name John is here for his test results, he didn't give a last name." 

Olivia snaps off her gloves with a nod and begins to clean the bloody gazes and tools used to stitch up Mr. Eastwood. "Haven't had a chance to look at the results myself, send him in and bring me the results if you would please." She remains with her back to the door, but she can tell when John has entered. She turns and motions to a table and set of chairs on one side of the examination room. "If you would John." She goes for the other seat across from him, hands folded neatly on the table and legs crossed at the ankles. "How have you been John?" She ask with a professional but hollow smile. The warmer side of Olivia was saved for people who needed the comfort, like the young and the dying.