A mom and pop diner located right outside Los Santos. The Pit Stop Diner prides itself on having "decent" food than all of the fast food restaurant in the city. It has been around since the 1950s, but barely gets business ever since the 2000's. Most of its customers are tourists on a empty tank and geezers who talk about the good o' days whenever given the chance.
The diner has a couple of functioning gas pumps from the 70's outside. Inside of the diner is known for its green, white, and yellow color scheme accompanied by black and white checkered patterns. License plates and road signs decorated every inch of the walls. The booths and seats were green and sticky but overall cushioned and comfy enough for anyone's tooshie. The radio in the diner constantly plays Los Santos Rock Radio with the occasional radio change when someone finds the radio.
The diner has a couple of functioning gas pumps from the 70's outside. Inside of the diner is known for its green, white, and yellow color scheme accompanied by black and white checkered patterns. License plates and road signs decorated every inch of the walls. The booths and seats were green and sticky but overall cushioned and comfy enough for anyone's tooshie. The radio in the diner constantly plays Los Santos Rock Radio with the occasional radio change when someone finds the radio.
Pit Stop Rules
》Characters don't necessarily have be from GTA to roleplay, but they have to be at least modern and human looking.
》Alcohol will be only served to characters 21+.
》Feel free to use NPCs in your posts to keep the flow going.
》Have fun!
》Characters don't necessarily have be from GTA to roleplay, but they have to be at least modern and human looking.
》Alcohol will be only served to characters 21+.
》Feel free to use NPCs in your posts to keep the flow going.
》Have fun!
The drive had been longer than he’d expected, the city lights of Los Santos gradually fading into dim highway signs and desert scrub. Sebi’s heart was still hammering from the close call. He’d barely escaped, slipping away in the middle of a dinner party where he’d come dangerously close to handling cash that wasn’t as clean as it was supposed to be. No one noticed he’d left—not yet, anyway.
Just off the road, the faint glow of green and yellow neon cut through the evening haze. The Pit Stop Diner. He hadn’t been here in ages, but it was perfect: out of the way, quiet, and practically abandoned.
He pulled into the empty lot, the tires crunching over loose gravel, and parked beside a couple of rusty gas pumps that had probably seen more action in the ‘70s than they had in the last decade. The place looked like it had aged along with its customers: a little worn out, but still kicking.
Stepping inside, Sebi was greeted by the faint aroma of frying oil, stale coffee, and the ever-present murmur of Los Santos Rock Radio. A few gray-haired men occupied the corner booth, muttering in low voices, pausing only to shake their heads at whatever the other was saying. They glanced his way as he walked in, but quickly turned back to their conversation.
Sebi chose a seat at the counter, where the vinyl cushions were sticky but familiar. A waitress came over—her name tag read “Joyce,” and she had the exhausted look of someone who’d served one too many night shifts. She didn’t ask questions, just handed him a menu and poured him a cup of coffee. Perfect.
He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting his pulse settle, and tried to blend in with the rhythm of the place. It wasn’t hard—no one here seemed in a hurry. In fact, the radio’s crackling rock hits and the slow pace of the old-timers’ conversation made time feel like it was slipping backwards.
Just off the road, the faint glow of green and yellow neon cut through the evening haze. The Pit Stop Diner. He hadn’t been here in ages, but it was perfect: out of the way, quiet, and practically abandoned.
He pulled into the empty lot, the tires crunching over loose gravel, and parked beside a couple of rusty gas pumps that had probably seen more action in the ‘70s than they had in the last decade. The place looked like it had aged along with its customers: a little worn out, but still kicking.
Stepping inside, Sebi was greeted by the faint aroma of frying oil, stale coffee, and the ever-present murmur of Los Santos Rock Radio. A few gray-haired men occupied the corner booth, muttering in low voices, pausing only to shake their heads at whatever the other was saying. They glanced his way as he walked in, but quickly turned back to their conversation.
Sebi chose a seat at the counter, where the vinyl cushions were sticky but familiar. A waitress came over—her name tag read “Joyce,” and she had the exhausted look of someone who’d served one too many night shifts. She didn’t ask questions, just handed him a menu and poured him a cup of coffee. Perfect.
He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting his pulse settle, and tried to blend in with the rhythm of the place. It wasn’t hard—no one here seemed in a hurry. In fact, the radio’s crackling rock hits and the slow pace of the old-timers’ conversation made time feel like it was slipping backwards.
Cindy was cruising through the desert, going to Los Santos from Blaine County. She merely avoided the meth dealer that lived in a trailer park earlier. The gas indicator showed that the tow truck's gas tank was near empty. "Crud." She muttered and pulled into the Pit Stop Diner. She parked promptly by the gas pump and got out to stretch. Cindy walked into the diner with a smile and paid for her gas at the counter. "Why don't you get some coffee while waiting?" Pops, the owner, said with a tired smile. The middle aged man was a stubborn bull who refused to retire since the diner was passed down to him from his father. "Well, I outta with you offering," Cindy said.
The mechanic sat right beside the man who looked like he was trying to hide. A mug of warm coffee landed right in front of Cindy, along with some cream and sugar packets. "Thank you, Sugah." She pours three of the sugar packets into the coffee. Cindy noticed that she didn't have a spoon so she turned to the fella beside her. "Can I use your spoon if you don't mind, Sugah?" She said with a Southern drawl.
The mechanic sat right beside the man who looked like he was trying to hide. A mug of warm coffee landed right in front of Cindy, along with some cream and sugar packets. "Thank you, Sugah." She pours three of the sugar packets into the coffee. Cindy noticed that she didn't have a spoon so she turned to the fella beside her. "Can I use your spoon if you don't mind, Sugah?" She said with a Southern drawl.
Sebi had been halfway through his coffee, doing his best to look inconspicuous, when the woman sat beside him with a cheerful energy that couldn’t be ignored. He glanced over, taking in her bright smile, the tow-truck grease on her hands, and the way she greeted the owner like an old friend. The kind of warm, easygoing type you didn’t see much of in his usual circles. She was definitely a breath of fresh air around here.
She caught his attention fully when she turned to him with that unmistakable Southern twang. Sebi had to bite back a smirk. She was bold, asking to use his spoon like they were old pals. He didn’t mind; something about her presence actually put him at ease, an unusual feeling these days.
“Sure thing’,” he replied, mirroring her tone with a playful wink as he handed her the spoon. He chuckled softly, surprised by his own lightheartedness, then leaned back, sipping his coffee as he watched her stir.
“Passing through, or you planning to stay a while?” he asked, genuinely curious, giving her a nod of acknowledgment. “The way you’re chatting up Pops here, I’d think you were a regular.”
She caught his attention fully when she turned to him with that unmistakable Southern twang. Sebi had to bite back a smirk. She was bold, asking to use his spoon like they were old pals. He didn’t mind; something about her presence actually put him at ease, an unusual feeling these days.
“Sure thing’,” he replied, mirroring her tone with a playful wink as he handed her the spoon. He chuckled softly, surprised by his own lightheartedness, then leaned back, sipping his coffee as he watched her stir.
“Passing through, or you planning to stay a while?” he asked, genuinely curious, giving her a nod of acknowledgment. “The way you’re chatting up Pops here, I’d think you were a regular.”
Cindy chuckled at the man's attempt of mirroring her tone and the playful wink that came with it. "A little more practice, you'll sound like a true Southerner," she joked with a wider smile on her face. "Thank you." Cindy took the spoon and stirred the sugar into the coffee. She then took a long sip of the coffee which was now sweetened to hide the stale taste of the coffee. "Going to Los Santos for parts," she explained. The Hammerhead bought "junk" cars from a shady car dealer named Simeon Yetarian. "Paw-Paw and I usually come here after a long day of work."
“Los Santos? I was just leaving,” he replied with a smirk. “At least, for a while.” He took another sip of his coffee, letting her casual energy ease him back into the moment.
He’d come out here to lay low, put some distance between himself and the usual scene before heading back to his bouncer gig. But with her easy-going attitude, he found himself curious about her story.
“You also come here for gas, it seems…” he chimed in, giving her a knowing glance as he nodded to her truck outside. “But what kind of parts you looking to buy? For cars, right?” He raised an eyebrow, taking a wild shot at it.
Sebi leaned back, his eyes drifting towards the window where the dim light cast her truck in a hazy glow. “You know, the car scene in Los Santos—it’s all about modded cars these days. Every other weekend, there’s some street takeover going on. Kids revving up, drifting around like they own the streets.” He shook his head, a faint grin fading into a more serious expression. “I can guarantee you, every session ends with someone getting a ticket to the hospital. And if they’re unlucky… someone doesn’t make it out at all.”
He took another sip of his coffee, a slight tension in his jaw as he thought about the recklessness he’d seen in the city. “The rush keeps pulling ’em back in, I guess. But some things aren’t worth the risk.” He glanced back at her, curious to see what she’d think of his less-than-glamorous take on Los Santos. Well, it is more like an aspect of the city but he could be certain that these sort of things happen in other places too.
He’d come out here to lay low, put some distance between himself and the usual scene before heading back to his bouncer gig. But with her easy-going attitude, he found himself curious about her story.
“You also come here for gas, it seems…” he chimed in, giving her a knowing glance as he nodded to her truck outside. “But what kind of parts you looking to buy? For cars, right?” He raised an eyebrow, taking a wild shot at it.
Sebi leaned back, his eyes drifting towards the window where the dim light cast her truck in a hazy glow. “You know, the car scene in Los Santos—it’s all about modded cars these days. Every other weekend, there’s some street takeover going on. Kids revving up, drifting around like they own the streets.” He shook his head, a faint grin fading into a more serious expression. “I can guarantee you, every session ends with someone getting a ticket to the hospital. And if they’re unlucky… someone doesn’t make it out at all.”
He took another sip of his coffee, a slight tension in his jaw as he thought about the recklessness he’d seen in the city. “The rush keeps pulling ’em back in, I guess. But some things aren’t worth the risk.” He glanced back at her, curious to see what she’d think of his less-than-glamorous take on Los Santos. Well, it is more like an aspect of the city but he could be certain that these sort of things happen in other places too.
Walking in, Flick's eyes danced around the diner. She always had an affinity for small, little mom-n-pop diners, so as she found her way to the small bar-counter seating, she couldn't help but let her eyes continue to explore the cozy, humble atmosphere.
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