I’m walking down the street in the hunger prodding time between breakfast and lunch. As I look around the busy streets I see a” hole in the wall” greasy spoon looking café, my eyes winced in disgust. I turn away but my stomach growls loudly and my belly guides me inside where my eyes couldn’t. As I enter I hear people talking loudly, the smell of burnt fat and sizzling bacon fills the air. I decide to sit on a bar stool next to the counter, from there I can see the kitchen and chefs through a large opening in the wall. The beat up stool squeaks as I sit on it. The sound must have alerted a cook/hostess because before I know it an obese body wearing a cooking apron covered in food stains squeezes through two flapping doors separating the kitchen and bar like café. He approaches me in an overly friendly way with a large smile that temporarily gives him a double chin.
“Names Ron.” He says in a grizzly voice while sticking out a large dirty hand.

Reluctantly I look him in the eyes and shake his hand. I introduce myself then he puts his arms on the counter and begins to lean on it.

With a slight smile he says. “What will we be having today, D.J.?”
I glance at the menu behind him and ask for the pancakes with strawberry syrup.
He pats the table and quickly says “I’ll have that right out for you.”
As he walks away I see him bite his lip and squeeze through the flapping doors again.

A few minutes later Ron squeezes pushes himself through the doors holding some tantalizing sugary smelling pancakes in one hand.

“Two deluxe sugar strawberry pancakes!” he yells
Then brings them to me even though I made no motion to signal they were mine. I begin to munch on the delish pancakes and out of boredom I began to look at the people in the café. As I scan from left to right across the place I see some are fat, some are skinny, some are old and some are young and some are eating breakfast and some are eating lunch, most seemed to be low lives but all were eat with someone. Until I got to the far right corner there was a maybe thirty to forty year old man sitting alone. He wore a dark leather jacket with the collar popped covering most of his face, on top of his head he wore a dark black baseball cap covering his eyes. He was reading a thick text book titled criminology and on the table lay 6 drunken coffee cups. He took a momentary brake from reading to grab a sip from the 7th cup of coffee. As he reached out to grab the cup I could see the outline of large muscles under his jacket and his knuckles looked hard and were covered in nicks and old cuts. When he lifted the cup to his lips it looked like his lip had been busted and was now healing, his eyes were blue and cunning looking. CRACK!!! The room fell dead silent. I wheeled my head around the sound came from the entrance. A mean looking biker stood inside the doorway where the door hung half way off the hinge. He was tall about six feet, bald and had a nose ring; he wore a sleeveless jacket covered in gang signs. He had torn jeans and steel toed boots. After looking at every ones face in the café he strutted in followed by four others similarly dressed.

The door kicker yelled “Ron brings us a couple beers and keep em flowin.”
Ron chuckled and smiled nervously and said “Sure.”
Before they had a chance to sit next to me on the stools I moved with my head down to the only open seat in the café, right next to the man I was looking at.
“Hi my names Jim.” He said in a slightly tough yet intelligent sounding voice. Without looking up.
“Jim hmm doesn’t seem to fit you. Did you see what happened?” I say.
“Yep.” He says unimpressed

“Do you think I should call the cops?” I ask still trying to start a conversation.

“Too late.” He says still reading his book.

“Hand over the money tubs!”
I wheel my head around yet again. A follower of Door Kicker with a Mohawk has a switchblade drawn at Ron (who is still smiling nervously). Suddenly a fork is sent whirling through the air like a boomerang and pierces into the knife holder’s hand. Screaming he drops it. I look next to me and a bat like figure had taken the place of Jim. Door kicker quickly reacts and pulls out a hand gun and sprays bullets in our direction. This muscle covered bat-figure moves with lightning speed and pushed me out of the way then charges at the bikers with a table blocking the wave of oncoming bullets. It rammed the table into them knocking the attackers down and rendering them unconscious. The bat figure reaches into a strange yellow belt and pulls out a twenty, places it on the table then ties the bikers together and drags them outside. I stand there in amazement with strawberry syrup all over my face… then faint.