In a dimly lit truck stop, a solitary figure, weathered by time, savored his meal while the aura of the place was punctuated by the entrance of three burly bikers.
As they sauntered past the elderly diner, the first biker callously extinguished his cigarette into the old man’s pie, a smirk dancing on his lips as he claimed a spot at the counter.
With a disdainful grin, the second biker grabbed the old man’s milk, adding an unsavory embellishment before nonchalantly placing it back on the table. Meanwhile, the third biker maliciously flipped the old man’s plate, joining his comrades at the counter with a sense of twisted camaraderie.
Silently, the elderly man placed his payment on the table, rising from his seat and exiting the diner without a backward glance. Amidst the bikers’ mocking laughter, one of them sneered at the waitress: “Looks like he couldn’t handle a little ribbing, eh?”
With a knowing smirk, the waitress retorted: “Maybe not, but he sure knows how to handle a rig. He just backed his truck right over three of your bikes!”