Snippet #1577561

A plate of sausage and biscuits was placed before him as well as a bowl of white gravy. Walker brightened up at the aroma of the breakfast and took a final drink from the coffee. He peeled off his rough sewn gloves and picked up a fork and then dug into his food. Almost like he hadn't ate in a week. Which was probably truer than anyone suspected. He spent a lot of his time on old roads and not many diners still populate the streets.

Of course, you couldn't throw a stone without striking an abandoned one, and that was where he got most of his nourishment from, always being able to find one or two tin cans of beans or vegetables, not to mention parts from an abandoned stove. Someone always needed a (relatively) new pilot light or a stove light. In a matter of fact, he'd probably have a pilot light in the bags of his motorcycle right now, among a number of other oddities. While you couldn't say that scavenging was particularly... Profitable, it was interesting at the best of times.

Walker, feeling the heat from the outside, loosened the scarf around his neck and sat his hat on the counter beside him, running a hand through his dusty brown hair. The road always wrecked havoc on his hair, and now it stayed perpetually windblown to the back of his head. Which was fine, it keep the dirty locks out of his brown eyes. The rider then realized the wave of heat most likely came from the fellow who sat down beside him. Walker felt a bit of momentary awkwardness. The man didn't exactly own the title 'social butterfly'. Chalk it to the cliche of the 'quiet sniper'.

"Jus' came in," he answered, shoveling another piece of biscuit, sausage, and gravy into his gullet. "Needed a break from the road 'fore I went mad." Long stretches of road old telephone poles could drive anyone mad.

Upon mention of his ride, Walker turned in his stool and peered out the window to the dirty motorcycle. "Thanks. Anabelle's a spirited one... When I'm not havin' to fix 'er." That was the thing about conventional antique vehicles... Even ones with names. They had to be in constant repair. It wouldn't be long before he would have to tinker with the break lines and patch a hole in the exhaust. The reason the roar was so loud. But the man in Walker like the sound, but so did the raiders...

He turned back to his plate and got another piece of sausage in his mouth before his gold coin was placed back on the counter. Another waitresses seemed to have tagged out. A thin dark haired girl with pale skin that mocked her dark hair. Well wasn't expecting that. Walker held the fork by his mouth and looked at the coin, then back to the girl. Finally, he shrugged, "No one seems to have a need of 'em anymore. I was hopin' to pawn in off here," he said, rubbing a finger along the inlaid imagine. Like most, if not all, an eagle holding an olive branch emblazoned the face.

He tapped the coin and leaned back, indicating that was the last of his thoughts on the issue and he didn't make a move to pocket it again. He glanced around a for little then leaned forward on the bar. He asked the new waitress as much as the fellow he sat beside, "You wouldn't know iffin' there was job or somethin' in this town? I'm pretty good with a gun or my hands. I'd like to do enough to get a room over at the hotel... Maybe even a couple a' beers for the night?" he asked. He wanted to do something beside ride another day away on his motorcycle.