He knows I'm absolutely not interested until I ask this. For you my friend. He stops, and rubs at one of the figures with the grimy cloth that it was wrapped in. Only two hundred. There is a silence, except for bursts of laughter from a nearby table, and the bass thump of the restaurant stereo.
Blankets turns to scrounge a clove cigarette off a loud American lady nearby.
This is about a hundred and seventy NZ dollars, a huge amount to him. I hold up the totem, then carelessly push it back across the table. Well, maybe fifty, and I think you'd be lucky at that. He patiently pulls out the grey cloth again, and begins to wrap it up. My friend, I think perhaps you are joking with me.