Perfect Timing

I stuffed my arm back into its sling, walked out of the physical therapist’s office, and crossed the street to the theater.
Looper had already started, but the box office girl said there were twenty minutes of previews.
I bought a ticket, the doorman tore it in half, and he checked my bag for weapons.
“Just drugs,” I said. “Painkillers.”
There was no way I could carry my large soda and popcorn myself.
“Jeremy,” I said, reading the boy’s nametag. “Got a minute to help me to my seat?”
He carried my drink, I thanked him, and the movie began.