West City Starbucks Coffee Shop, Zhang Xiaojia and Little Steel Cannon had already downed three or four cups of coffee here when a young man slowly rolled up on a bicycle.
If it weren't for the server's professionalism, he probably wouldn't have even let him in.
The guy looked pale, skinny, about 1.7 meters tall, dressed head-to-toe in a green military uniform, rubber-soled shoes, and a crossbody bag.
Pumping the pedals of an old-fashioned 28-inch bike, he looked like he'd just time-traveled from the last century.
He sat down in front of Zhang Xiaojia and Little Steel Cannon and said with a cold face, "Spit it out if you've got something to say, and fart if you've got one to let. Don't ask me to meet at these foreign devil joints again—can't stand this bourgeois crap!"
Zhang Xiaojia choked on his coffee and whispered in Little Steel Cannon's ear, "You sure it's this dude?"
Little Steel Cannon tugged his arm, telling him to shut up, so they didn't get their asses kicked.
