The Call
The veteran didn’t rise. He didn’t shout. Instead, he bent down, picked up his cap, dusted it off, and placed it back on his head with deliberate care.
Then he looked to the waitress. His voice was gentle. “Ma’am, may I use the phone?”
Confused, she handed it over. The old man dialed, his hands steady as stone.
“It’s me,” he said softly. “I could use a little help.”
He hung up, slid the phone back, and folded his hands on the table as if nothing had happened.
The biker laughed, shaking his head. “Calling your nurse? Pathetic.”
But the veteran only waited.
