Twenty-one years after I handed a hungry boy a free meal, ninety-seven bikers rolled into my small Ohio town and stopped right outside my diner.

half the farmers around here before harvest season.”

For a brief moment, a smile almost appeared.

He slid into the booth near the window, still looking ready to leave if I changed my mind.

“What would you like?”

He studied the menu as if every price was impossible.

Then he said something I never forgot.

“Whatever costs the least.”

So I wrote down a full breakfast.continue reading …