Several runners gathered at Rock's rental house—a very large and old, dilapidated, run-down mess on 35th Street in Levy. They planned to eat later at Jim's Diner, a place owned and run by Rock's former neighbor, Jim Taylor.
Jim was a hard-edged, bull-headed retired cop, and his restaurant was old-school in every way. "We serve American food," Jim liked to say. "If you want anything fancy, go somewhere else."
Rock told his friends about it, and they were delighted to see Jim's Diner was purely retro, like a restaurant straight out of the 1950s. Everyone loved the food, but there was trouble at the register.
Something was wrong with a receipt. The paper appeared to have jammed in a printer, and it was nearly illegible.
"What are your friends trying to pull here?" said Jim, clearly angered. "I don't like being fucked with, Rock. You should know that by now."
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