Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope
A black duffel rode in the back seat like a passenger.
He was bouncing on his heels until he saw who had come around the corner, and then he stopped.
“You’re supposed to stay a hundred feet from my mother.” He held up a folded paper.
“She has a piece of paper that says so.”
“She has a lot of paper.”
“You think a piece of paper is going to save you now?”
“No.” I stayed by his bumper.
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