Breakfast Club

A man in the back spit. John, don’t say anything. I prayed silently.
“Whaddaya want with him?” He asked.
“He stole my horse. I came to collect my dues.”
“That’s crap!” Reggie shouted. ”’e’s a poor, blin’ man. Near an’ dear to us all.”
“Ha! That’s what I thought. Until the guy went an’ stole m’ horse.” The stranger laughed.
“Listen, Mr. I don’t know you, and nor do I aim to. If you’re gonna start trouble, then get the hell putta my restaurant.” I pointed to the door.
“Aw, come now, Miss…?”
“Jean.” I said, gesturing at the tattoo on my breast.
“Miss Jean, I wasn’t startin’ nuthing. I was just tryin’ to find ‘im.” I continued pointing at the door behind him. Finally, he walked out, muttering something about how the “son of a gun will murder ‘em in their sleep.”

“Well, that was pleasant.” I breathed heavily while looking into the faces of my regular customers. Good. I thought. I’m not the only one disgusted.

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