The cashier—a young guy named Kaden—snorted under his breath.
“Sir, this ID is from the seventies. I can’t take this.”
Arthur didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t argue. He simply slid the cracked leather wallet back into his pocket with the slow care of someone who had learned long ago that patience outlasts pride. The line behind him shifted and sighed, irritation buzzing in the air.
“It’s a military identification,” Arthur said quietly. “Those don’t expire.”
Kaden smirked. “Doesn’t matter. Store rules say valid, current ID only. You want the veteran discount, you play by the rules.” He waved to the next customer, already dismissing Arthur like an inconvenience.
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