Breakfast Is On Me




It was supposed to be a peaceful, easy-going morning in the small town diner. The Mornin' Glory was warm, cozy, filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon. It was the kind of place where everybody knew each other, and the biggest drama was whether the pies had blueberries or cherries.
Clark Hopper swung open the diner door and walked across the linoleum floor to a table. He was dressed in a red shirt, black jeans, and dirt-streaked boots. ll have my usual, Debbie!"he called out. He plopped himself down in a chair at a table where his brother was seated.
Leon was as sharply dressed as usual. He was wearing a navy blue suit, a bright yellow dress shirt, and a sleek black tie. Leon adjusted his reading glasses and looked over his menu, trying to ignore the fact that Clark's boots were propped up on the chair next to him, mud and all.
"Get your boots off the chair!" the waitress snapped.
"Sure thing, Debbie."
She snorted, set a drink and a plate onto the table, and turned and walked away.
Leon shook his head. "That hair colour is something else."
"Yep." Clark, mid-sip of his iced tea, caught Leon's glance and grinned like a kid about to cause trouble. His mischievous eyes sparkled as he leaned back, stretching out his long legs and leaving smudges and streaks on the floor from his boots.
Leon, trying to focus on his own plate, couldn't ignore the way Clark's shirt was already stained with streaks of dirt and grass. "Do you own any clean clothes?" he asked.
"Course."
"So why do you never wear them?"
"No reason too."
Leon sighed. "Why do you get mashed potatoes with your brefast?"
"I don't like hashbrowns."
Leon took a drink of his coffee.
"You know," Clark drawled, voice full of teasing bravado, "I bet I could win a case in court. But I'd probably lose a food fight to you."
"You in court?" Leon raised an eyebrow. "That will be the day."
"I could do it."
"Not a chance."
"You have no confidence in me?
"Not in court."
"And the food fight?"
"What?" Leon shook his head. "We are not kids anymore. We are adults...can't you act like one?"
"Oh, is that a challenge?" Clark's grin widened, predatory and reckless. "Thought you'd never ask."
Before Leon could respond, Clark shot his hand across the table and grabbed a hefty scoop of mashed potatoes from his plate. With a big grin, he launched it.
The smooth, white blob hit Leon right on his chest, splatting against his shirt with a wet, sticky sound, and immediately, a lumpy, white mass dripped down his navy suit. The mashed potatoes smeared across his lapel, staining the fabric, and splattered onto his crisp dress shirt, leaving streaks of white and bits of potato stuck in his tie. Leon's eyes widened in surprise, then froze for a moment, stunned.
What is this? Leon thought, feeling the cold, wet mess seeping into his shirt. Well, I guess I can't back down now. He looked at his brother. "Oh, no you did not just do that." he said, voice rising with mock outrage, but he was already reaching for the ketchup packets.
Clark stared at him.
Leon squeezed
Ketchup splattered them both as the packets exploded.
Leon spluttered. "That wasn't supposed to happen."
Clark, laughing uncontrollably, grabbed a handful of scrambled eggs from his plate and flung them at Leon. The yellow-and-white mess exploded against Leon's chest and face, strings of eggs hanging from his chin and collar.
Leon, now covered in gooey egg, grabbed a handful of spaghetti from his plate and hurled it back across the table.
Long, wet noodles slapped onto Clark's shirt and beard, sticking with a squishy, sloppy sound.
This is madness, Leon thought, feeling the rush of adrenaline and absurdity mix. But damn, I don't care. He snatched up the plastic bottle of pancake syrup and squeezed it over his brother, soaking his shirt.
Clark, nearly doubled over with laughter, grabbed the salt shaker and shook it wildly, sending a fine mist of salt into the air.
Leon grabbed the pepper shaker and squeezed, releasing a dark cloud of pepper powder aimed right at Clark's face.
Clark grabbed the ketchup bottle and squeezed it hard. "Take that!" he said as the thick, crimson stream burst forth, splattering across Leon's face, neck, and the upper part of his shirt. The ketchup dripped down his collar, staining the fabric, and smeared across his glasses.
Leon's sharp, navy blue suit had become a canvas, one streaked with red, white, and yellow. He grabbed the small bowl of caesar salad and smashed it onto his brother's head smearing dressing across his face.
Suddenly, the din of cheers erupted from the other patrons. A table of elderly women clapped and hooted, while a couple of young kids cheered loudly, egging them on with shouts of "Make 'em messier!" and "Y'all got this!"
The two brothers were locked neck-deep in a full-blown food war--shaking, squirting, and hurling anything within reach.
The door to the diner swung open. "Morning, Debbie, can I get a coffee and bagel?"
Clark felt another handful of spaghetti splattered into his face and he squeezed the ketchup bottle again.
The stream flew over Leon's shoulder.
"What the hell?" Constable Austin swore loudly. He wiped his face, smearing ketchup through his thin moustache. His black shirt and pants, usually spotless, were smudged with streaks of mustard and ketchup.
His eyes widened as he took in the state of the diner.
Leon was covered in a rainbow of sauces, his navy suit now a patchwork of mess, his glasses askew and shirt streaked with mashed potato, eggs and condiments.
Clark was equally messy, with his face smeared with salad leaves, syrup, and a smear of ketchup across his cheek.
The constable's jaw tightened, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "What the hell is wrong with you two?"
"Austin, you gotta do something about these two!" Debbie shrieked as she emerged from the kitchen. "They've wrecked the place!"
Austin looked the two men.
Clark was grinning.
Leon blinked, stunned, then straightened his tie.
Clark wiped his face. The white goo of ceasar dressing smeared across his face, making him look like an overgrown kid.
"Look at what you two have done to the diner!"Austin snarled. "I should write you both up for disorderly contact. Really, Clark, I'd expect better behaviour from you. You live in this town...not like him."
"I lived here once," Leon told him.
Austin frowned.
The patrons cheered louder, some splattering food and laughing as they egged the two men on.
Leon, still covered in potatoes, ketchup, and scrambled eggs, wiped a streak of mustard from his cheek, smearing it further.
Clark shook a handful of salad leaves from his hair, dressing and bits of lettuce sticking to his face and shirt.
This is nuts, Leon thought, but I haven't had this much fun in ages.
Clark leaned back, wiping syrup from his chin and grinning wide. "Rematch tomorrow?"
Leon, still laughing, wiped a streak of mustard off his sleeve. "Only if you're brave enough."
Clark's grin stretched wider. "You're on, lawyer. But next time, I'm bringing the big guns--and maybe a mop."
The sheriff shook his head and raised his hand. "Y'all better clean this mess up before I start passing out citations for destroying the place."
And I'll need a new shirt, Leon thought, eyeing the colourful, sticky mess dripping from his navy blue jacket and tie. "This is the second suit of mine you've ruined."
Clark nodded. "You've got one more right?
"I see why you dress like a bum...if this is how you treat your clothes." Leon sigh, loudly. "But honestly? I wouldn't want it any other way."
Clark, still grinning, looked around at the cheering diner patrons, the scowling waitress, and the bemused constable, and the chaos they'd created. "Honestly, this was better than any courtroom battle I've ever had."
Leon nodded, eyes twinkling beneath the smeared glasses. "Same here. But next time? I'll bring backup--and a firehose."
The crowd erupted into applause and cheers as the two men, covered in a rainbow of sauces, crumbs, and splatters, leaned back in their chairs, grinning like kids who'd just discovered the best day ever.
Austin just shook his head.




The diner was a disaster zone.
Debbie stood with her arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in sharp disbelief. Her uniform was crisp, untouched by the chaos, and her gaze burned into them like a laser. "I can't believe this!" she snapped, voice dripping with scorn. "Look at this place! Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to clean up after you two?" She shook her head, lips pressed tight, as she pointed to streaks of sauce on the booths. "And don't even think about leaving until this mess is spotless!"
Bits of scrambled eggs clung to the vinyl booths, streaks of ketchup and syrup ran across the floor in sticky rivers, and droplets of orange juice glimmered on the counter like tiny hazards waiting to be stepped on. In the middle of the chaos, two men were hunched over, trying to restore some semblance of order.
One of them, still dishevelled in a navy blue suit and bright yellow dress shirt, had his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, swinging slightly to one side. His shoes were scuffed, his pants streaked with sauce, and his hair fell damply across his forehead. He moved with a mix of irritation and fatigue, wiping down counters with paper towels, but every swipe seemed to smear the mess further rather than erase it.
Beside him, the rugged man in black jeans and a red shirt fared no better. The shirt was streaked with remnants of eggs and syrup, the fabric clinging unevenly to his chest and shoulders. His jeans had splatters of ketchup and juice, and his dirt-streaked boots squelched slightly with each step as he mopped up puddles of spilled liquid. He swore under his breath, using exaggerated sweeping motions to push the mess into corners, only to see it slop back out.
"Clark Hopper...I should ban you from this diner for life." Debbie snorted. "And you! A man in an over-priced suit. I should ban you as well."
"You remember my brother Leon, don't you?"
The man in the suit groaned.
"Yes, a vaguely. The only one of your family worth anything." Debbie turned her head. "I should bill you for the day's sales I've lost."
Leon groaned again, then bent to pick up a fallen napkin, while the one in the red shirt shot him a helpless glance. The brothers exchanged a brief, resigned look, shoulders slumping as the magnitude of the cleanup hit them. Sauce-stained hands and sticky sleeves moved in tandem, scrubbing, wiping, and trying desperately to erase the evidence of their chaotic, reckless food fight.
Every once in a while, the waitress would scowl and shake her head again, berating them with cutting remarks about their carelessness. Yet, despite the scolding, a faint glimmer of shared amusement flickered between the two men--the kind of tired, messy camaraderie born only from surviving a ridiculous disaster together.