“This is my spot, old bastard. Leave before I throw you out.”
The veteran lifted his eyes, voice calm but tired. “Kid, I’ve faced worse than you. If you want this chair so badly, take it.”
The slap cracked across his cheek. His cap tumbled to the floor, coffee spilling across the table. A waitress gasped; a mother shielded her child’s eyes. The biker chuckled darkly. “Should’ve stayed gone, soldier.”
No one moved.
The old man bent down, retrieved his cap, wiped his sleeve clean, then leaned toward the waitress. “Phone, please. I need to reach my son.”
