Who? The Doctor and OPEN Where? Whatever street the TARDIS is on. Near the beach. When? Sunday evening. What? The Doctor's got cabin fever and needs someone to stop him losing his mind completely.
He'd had enough. Eternal darkness, constant rain, vampires... it was nothing compared with what he usually faced on a daily basis, but everything about L.A 2005 was just wrong. The Doctor was not a defeatist, far from it, but he really needed something to work for him. He wasn't used to all his efforts resulting in absolutely zero progress. Something gave him the feeling that he was never going to be able to 'fix' this city. It was beyond saving... but if he could just get the TARDIS to work, maybe he'd be able to figure it out. He'd told himself to take it one thing at a time, but when not one damn thing would work for him it was all a bit overwhelming.
He'd been trying to fix her for weeks, and finally felt as if he must have a breakthrough. The scanner was showing the correct scene once more, the central column was lighting up once more and the engines were roaring into life. All the pressure was on the navigation systems to work for him. "Come on!" he roared encouragingly. "One metre! Please, just a metre, you can move a metre!" he insisted. Dematerialisation began, and only three seconds later he rematerialised with an almighty crash, throwing him to the floor and leaving the control panel giving off sparks and horrific screeching sounds as the engine stalled. The Doctor yelled in frustration and kicked the side of the console violently before getting to his feet again. "That better be at least thirty centimetres!" he shouted threateningly before grabbing his coat and storming out the door. Apparently they had crashed right back where they'd began. "Oh, come on!" he yelled, banging a fist on the side of his ship as if that was going to teach her a lesson. He really didn't care how much attention he was attracting by beating the crap out of a police call box.