“Semantics aside,” I say. “Bro, how much?” He shrugs. “I’m not Redford,” I remind him. “You didn’t do me a solid. I didn’t put you up at Yale. And if that doesn’t convince you, I distinctly remember Redford calling you a viral mouth sore.” “Yeah, but he said it so fondly. What’s not to love about being a viral mouth sore?” He laughs. I smile. “Donnelly…” “I give him my paycheck,” he finally admits with an easy nonchalance.
