Stroll in there, cheque in hand. Hold it up when I see Paulo: “Surprise.” Paulo looks at me weird, his head cocked to one side. “You had a haircut since this morning?” “No.” I wave the cheque about. “Cheque’s for you.” “I see it.” He twirls one finger. “Still something different about you.” “Good or bad?” “Good. You look almost healthy.” “I’m fuckin’ happy.” “That’ll be it.” Paulo takes the cheque off me, reads the amount, then holds it up to the light. “It’s genuine,” I say. He bites down on the paper as if it’s made of gold. Looks at it again, still frowning. He’s so fucking dramatic sometimes. “Look, if you don’t want it, just say the word.” Paulo waves the cheque at me. “It’s very generous. Thank you. Should pay off a couple of things.” “You’re welcome.” “Is it any good, though?” “Yeah. Should be. You might want to get it banked as soon as, though. Comes from a bloke who’s a touch bipolar financially.
