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“Oh, yeah. Well, bite me.” Bob shouted in Jimmy’s face.
Jimmy will deny to his dying day that he did this, but he can still enjoy this in private. Jimmy bent forward toward the fleshy bit beneath the sleeve of Bob’s filthy white t-shirt and sunk his teeth in, pressing harder at the yelp Bob gave.
“Bobby? What’s going on out there?” Linda asked.
Jimmy wrenched away from Bob’s arm.
“If that’s what your food tastes like, no wonder you don’t have any customers.”
“You - you - you bit me.”
Linda pushed the door open from the kitchen, “Bobby?”
Jimmy walked out of the restaurant and across the street.
“He bit me.”
“Who Bobby? Who would do such a thing?”
“Jimmy Pesto, that’s who.”
“Let me see. Are you bleeding?”
“Bleeding?” Bob wobbled, “There’s blood?”
“No, Bob. There are teeth marks, though.”