Travis L. Vines

Travis L. Vines Contact information, map and directions, contact form, opening hours, services, ratings, photos, videos and announcements from Travis L. Vines, Digital creator, 675 Highland Avenue NE, Atlanta, GA.

I just don't do bras in the summer, if you're interested — beautiful photos are in the comments!
10/23/2025

I just don't do bras in the summer, if you're interested — beautiful photos are in the comments!

10/23/2025

Something massive just happened on the highway... and it’s not over yet. They found something surprising in that car. Watch:

Many people don't know it. A woman's large breasts indicate that her vag...see more
10/23/2025

Many people don't know it. A woman's large breasts indicate that her vag...see more

27 year old woman ends up DYing after deciding to eat only F… see more
10/23/2025

27 year old woman ends up DYing after deciding to eat only F… see more

HT10. Understanding Intimacy and Relationship Concerns When Your Partner Prefers One Position See more
10/23/2025

HT10. Understanding Intimacy and Relationship Concerns When Your Partner Prefers One Position See more

10/23/2025

FIVE BIKERS RIDICULED A 90-YEAR-OLD VETERAN — MOMENTS LATER, THE ROAR OF ENGINES SHOOK THE GROUND. For twenty years, Walter Davis had breakfast at Maggie’s Diner — the same booth by the window, the same order: black coffee, two pancakes, and quiet company. At ninety years old, he was part of the town’s heartbeat — slow, steady, kind. But that peaceful Sunday morning, the diner’s routine shattered. The door slammed open. Five bikers stomped in — leather jackets, snake tattoos, and boots that hit the floor like thunder. Their laughter filled the small diner, rough and mocking. “Look at Grandpa over there,” one of them sneered. “This ain’t no nursing home, old man.” Walter didn’t even look up. He just took another sip of his coffee. Calm. Unbothered. That seemed to bother them even more. One biker swaggered over, snatched Walter’s cane, and spun it like a toy. “You need this to walk or to swat flies?” he jeered. The diner fell silent. Maggie, the owner, reached for the phone to call 911 — but Walter raised a trembling hand. “No need for that, sweetheart,” he said softly. He set his fork down, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out an old flip phone. With one click, he made a single call. “It’s Walter,” he said simply. “I might need a little help down at Maggie’s.” The bikers burst out laughing. “Who you callin’, Grandpa? Your bingo club?” Walter didn’t reply. He just leaned back, calm as ever, and finished his coffee. Then — five minutes later — the ground began to shake. Engines roared outside. Dozens of motorcycles pulled up in formation — polished chrome, thunderous pipes, flags snapping in the wind. The diner windows rattled. Every face turned pale. Because when those doors opened again, it wasn’t a bingo club that walked in. It was the Iron Patriots, the local veteran biker chapter — all there for one man. And the way they looked at those five bullies? You could’ve heard a pin drop. What happened next had the whole town talking for weeks — continuation in the first c0mment 👇

HT15. Teacher expelled for PR0V0KING her students and forcing them to do…See more
10/23/2025

HT15. Teacher expelled for PR0V0KING her students and forcing them to do…See more

These are the signs that you are...See more
10/23/2025

These are the signs that you are...See more

10/23/2025

"DON’T SCROLL PAST — THIS BROKE OUR HEARTS 💔"
A 90-year-old woman collapsed near a supermarket checkout, reaching out her trembling hand for help…
And people walked right past her.
No one stopped.
No one spoke.
No one even looked.
Until a man in black quietly knelt beside her—and did what no one else would.
She had walked in alone, leaning on a cane, determined to buy her groceries—bread, butter, tea, soup. Essentials. She moved slowly, her body aching with every step. But she was used to doing things for herself. Even now. Even at her age.
Then she tripped. Fell hard on the cold floor. Her cane slid away. Herhand lifted, pleading—for help, for dignity, for someone to see her.
Everyone saw her.
No one helped.
She began to crawl.
One hand on tile. One breath at a time.
Phones came out. Whispers spread. Judgment, not compassion.
And then—finally—one stranger changed everything.
💬 “Where are her children?”
💬 “She shouldn’t be alone.”
But the real question is: where were we?
📌 Full story in the comments. Read it. Share it. Be better. 👇

10/23/2025

💔 Billionaire Visits Her Son’s Grave And Finds A Black Waitress Crying With A Child – What Happens Next Leaves Her Speechless! 😭
Elegant, powerful, and always in control, Eleanor Whitmore visited her only son’s grave as she did every year—alone, her sorrow hidden behind designer sunglasses. But this time, something stopped her cold.
Kneeling beside the headstone was a young Black woman in a faded waitress uniform, clutching a baby. Her voice trembled through tears:
🕊️ “I wish you could see him, Jonathan. I wish you could hold him.”
Eleanor’s sharp voice cut through the still air. “What are you doing here?”
Startled, the woman turned. “I’m sorry… I meant no disrespect. My name is Maya. I knew Jonathan.”
Eleanor frowned. “Knew him how? Were you part of his staff?”
Maya shook her head. “It was more than that. This… this is his son.”
Silence. Disbelief. Then—denial. “You’re lying,” Eleanor whispered.
But when the baby opened his eyes—the same blue-gray eyes her son had—Eleanor’s breath caught. The truth hit her like lightning.
The billionaire who thought she’d lost everything… had just found a piece of her son still living. ❤️
👉 Full Story in Comments ⤵️

If your partner always asks you behind your back, it's because... See more
10/22/2025

If your partner always asks you behind your back, it's because... See more

10/22/2025

A SILVER STAR VETERAN WAS DOWNGRADED FROM 5A TO 47B—BUT MOMENTS LATER, ELEVEN SOLDIERS BOARDED, A GENERAL STOOD IN SALUTE, AND SILENCE FELL ACROSS THE ENTIRE TERMINAL. Major Frank Brenner moved against that tide at a pace entirely his own. Eighty-nine, posture still squared by decades of habit, he wore a pressed jacket, creased khakis, and a veteran’s cap stitched with one glinting silver star. In his inside pocket rested a thick envelope embossed with the seal of Congress—an invitation to speak in Washington, D.C., at a national ceremony honoring those who had served. A first-class ticket, compliments of the organizers. A small mercy before a duty that required words rather than will. He double-checked the boarding pass: 5A. A window. He liked the way the wing cut the sky. When the zone was called, he waited, letting the rush go first. At the scanner a young agent smiled, all polish and training. “Welcome aboard, sir.” Frank nodded, stepped into the jet bridge, and trailed his fingers once along the cool aluminum wall. Inside the aircraft, first class hummed with quiet indulgence—soft glasses, softer voices, and screens glowing with meetings still pretending to be important. He found 5A, slid his small bag into the overhead, and turned to sit. “Excuse me, sir?” A lead flight attendant stood with a colleague, name badges catching the light. “I’m Lauren,” she said gently. “And this is Benson. There’s been a change to your seating assignment.” Frank’s eyes flicked to the placard above the seat. To the printed 5A on his pass. “A change?” “I’m sorry,” Lauren continued, working to keep the script from sounding like a wall. “Due to a loyalty reallocation, you’ve been reassigned to 47B.” He waited for the rest—the explanation that would make this all a misunderstanding. It didn’t come. “There must be some mistake,”….Full story in the first comment 👇

Address

675 Highland Avenue NE
Atlanta, GA
30312

Website

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Travis L. Vines posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Shortcuts

Share

Category