The man who got off the bus looked a lot like an old Motorcycle Club member, gone to seed. He also could have been a newly paroled prisoner. He walked to the ticket agent who felt a little apprehension as he approached.

“Where can I get a bowl of soup, and a cup of coffee close by?” the tall gray haired man asked.

“There aren’t many place close by,” the agent replied.

“Don’t need but one,” the old man said with a stone face.

When you leave the waiting room through that door over there.” The ticket agent pointed to the front door. “Turn right, then go two block and turn right again on Church street. About half way down the block on the left is the Downtown Diner. They have coffee for sure. They might have soup.”

“Thanks,” the old man with the bearing of a soldier or maybe a weight lifter, said.

The agent watched the old man exited the waiting room carrying a small canvas overnight bag. He was glad to see him go frankly. The man walked out the door and turned right. He noticed that the whole left side of the main street was a railroad track. He could imagine that the trains once kept the town busy. These days the tracks had grass growing between them. The trains still came through, but none stopped.

He walked slowly across the parking lot then into the door of the Downtown Diner. It was a cleaned up relic of the past. He liked that it was still a diner, even with the grease missing from the walls.

He looked at the blackboard with the menu pages hanging from the bottom. On the blackboard someone had written soup of the day “Navy bean with carrots”. He didn’t mind the carrots too much.

“What will it be,” the chubby teenaged looking waitress asked.

“A large bowl of bean, onions, cornbread and a cup of coffee,” he said.

“Coming right up,” she said.

When she returned with his soup, she was careful not to spill it. She also brought a basket with two corn muffins in it. He nodded acknowledging her service. Then he ate the soup, and the muffins. He washed it down with the complimentary water, and the coffee.

When he finished, he took the check in his hand, left a dollar tip and walked to the cashier. He was second in line when a young black thug pushed past him. The kid held a butcher’s knife in his right hand as he threatened the cashier.

“Gimme all your money,” he said.

“You doing that all wrong,” the hairy old man said to him.

“What?” the kid said.

“You are doing it all wrong, she is just going to turn and run. You got a counter between you and her, ain’t no way you can stop her.” The old man said.

The did just a the old man said. “See what I mean now you need to get the fuck out of here before the cops the manager has already called get here.”

“Not before I cut your ass,” the kid said.

“Up to you,” the old man said, looking the kid right in the eyes. “Now if you try to slice me it’s going to give me a chance to react. I might even take the knife from you. That would be bad for both of us.”

“How you figure?” the kid said.

“Cause I’ll kill you with it. If you connect, you go from an attempt robbery, which no cop is going to be willing to die over. To a ADW which is a big deal. My advice is turn and run.” The refuge from an old folks home said.

Suddenly there was the sound of a siren and the kid turned and beat it out the door. Every one in the Down town diner breathed a sigh of relief. The manager rushed to the old man and put out his hand. The old man ignore it and gave the cashier his money. She looked at the manager who shook his head.

“It’s on us,” she said with a shaky voice.’

The old man placed a five dollar bill on the counter and said, “No thanks.” then he just walked away before the cops arrived.