The roar of an engine could be heard as a motorbike pulled up alongside one of the parking meters. A black and red machine put together by an armature, but potential for a lot of power. Removing the helmet, Jacob breathed in the world around him. He needed some measure of peace before moving on. He dusted off his brown-biker jacket, picking bits of glass off his jeans and looked in the side mirror to rub away what dirt was on his face. He didnt want to drawn unwanted attention.
Getting off the seat and in his travelling attire, Jacob chain-locked his helmet to the wheel and double checked his rucksack. Hauling it over his shoulder, he walked in with the dust, oil, and (hoping nobody would notice) blood droplets on his boot-heel. His last trip to an establishment wasn't well received when it was being robbed. Looking for a table, or a barstool at least, he noticed a shift in the air. Something else was here, though he couldn't tell what it was. He was still trying to get a grip on his senses. Deciding not to stick his nose too far in, he made himself comfortable on a stool by the window, overlooking the road. When the waitress was about ask him what he wanted, he quickly procured a large bank note.
"You do pulled pork?" he asked nonchalantly. The waitress just blinked before composing herself. "That's a no, huh? No problem. I'll settle for a chicken-southern with fries and BBQ sauce. Tap water too, please."
"Would that be to go?"
"I hope not, need a breather. I'll have it as is."
As she took the bank note, still looking at it wide-eyed, Jacob asked if he could tune the radio to another channel. It was coming up to that time for the news to chime in. He didn't want people to hear what happened just yet. He was hungry. People were enjoying themselves. This was the best peace and calm moment he could get for now.
Getting off the seat and in his travelling attire, Jacob chain-locked his helmet to the wheel and double checked his rucksack. Hauling it over his shoulder, he walked in with the dust, oil, and (hoping nobody would notice) blood droplets on his boot-heel. His last trip to an establishment wasn't well received when it was being robbed. Looking for a table, or a barstool at least, he noticed a shift in the air. Something else was here, though he couldn't tell what it was. He was still trying to get a grip on his senses. Deciding not to stick his nose too far in, he made himself comfortable on a stool by the window, overlooking the road. When the waitress was about ask him what he wanted, he quickly procured a large bank note.
"You do pulled pork?" he asked nonchalantly. The waitress just blinked before composing herself. "That's a no, huh? No problem. I'll settle for a chicken-southern with fries and BBQ sauce. Tap water too, please."
"Would that be to go?"
"I hope not, need a breather. I'll have it as is."
As she took the bank note, still looking at it wide-eyed, Jacob asked if he could tune the radio to another channel. It was coming up to that time for the news to chime in. He didn't want people to hear what happened just yet. He was hungry. People were enjoying themselves. This was the best peace and calm moment he could get for now.