“Mr. Smith, you forgot your change.”
The cashier blushed at me.
“I don’t think I’m owed any,” I said.
“Just take it,” he said. “Also, could you sign this?”
I signed the receipt and the cashier ran giggling from the store with it clutched in his hands.
I left the store shaking my head. Then my phone vibrated.
“Smith, you wonderful mother fucker,” my agent blared, “you got the gig. You’re gonna be famous.”