“Besides, I’m not planning on being around much longer. Maybe a week. So this would just be a short period.” “Where are you going?” He ignores my question and rises, carries his cup to the trash, and pitches it in like a basketball player. When he returns I’ve made up my mind, but I still have a question. “You’re carrying around a lot of money,” I try, framing it as a statement. “Oh, that? Yeah. That’s my savings. It’s not that much, and it’s got to last me a while. I try not to spend any of it, but this seemed worth it,” he says with disarming frankness. I feel like a complete loser. He’s made enough to save. Mine’s gone as soon as it hits my guitar case. I’ll freely admit I’m lousy with money. Budgeting isn’t one of my strong points. “You didn’t have to buy me another coffee, Derek,” I start, but his smile stops me. “What?” He shakes his head. “Nothing.” “Really. What is it? What did I do?” “I like the way you say my name. That’s all.” Bam. Right cross to the jaw. With a hell of a follow-through. “How about giving it a try for a few hours, until lunchtime, and seeing how we do? If I’m wrong, I’ll make up the difference. What do you make by one on a weekday?” Damn him straight to hell for being so reasonable sounding. He could probably sell toasters to penguins. I calculate quickly. On a good day, maybe five dollars. Most of my money will come in the afternoon, maybe another whopping ten or fifteen bucks before it gets dark. “Usually?”