Mini Coopers. “It’ll cost you.” Again, he does nothing but stare at me. His hand slides in the pocket of his door, and then a brick of notes falls among my French fries with a dull thud. I stare down at the wedge of hundred-dollar bills, bundled together by an elastic band. Christ, there’s at least a grand there, much more than I’ve ever dreamt of earning in a night, let alone for one dance.
JESUS
