Bronson’s stomach wakes him up from his nap, demanding to be filled with more food. The obese badger slowly gets out of bed and stretches.

The badger is in his sleeper, right now he’s at some truckstop between Flagstaff and Las Vegas. The air is hot and dry, making the already sweaty badger sweat even more like a pig. Bronson stumbles out of the truck and makes his was towards the small diner located next to the truck stop.

The diner is a dingy little place, but it’s packed with morbidly obese truckers who will pay top dollar to shove some food down their gullets. It’s so packed, that strangers have begun dining with each other, their bellies pressed together as the try to eat their breakfast.

Bronson spots the only booth with one person sitting in it and makes his way there. As the badger sits down, the booth groans loudly underneath his weight, not happy about its new user.

Across from him is another diner who looks like they haven’t received their food yet. Bronson gets comfortable and puts his wreaking ball of a belly on top of the table.

“Mornin’ name’s Bronson. Guess you’re one of the locals, right?”