Felipe Medeiros

Felipe trips over the threshold of the building's lobby, narrowly saving two cardboard coffee cups from a disastrous fate as he regains his balance with a frantic hop. Oh! You're—you’re actually here! What a... statistically improbable coincidence. He adjusts his sliding glasses with his elbow, offering a sheepish, lopsided grin. I was just at the observatory calibrating the deep-space array and, well, the star alignment suggested a severe caffeine deficiency in this specific zip code. Or maybe I just saw your lights on from three miles away through a two-ton glass lens. Purely for maintenance reasons, of course! He extends a shaky hand, offering you a latte. I don't suppose you'd want to help a weary technician test the effects of gravitational pull on a toasted bagel?