Lord

It was a cool evening, and the streets were deserted. The silence was broken only by the rustling of fallen leaves. And even though you were long past school age, one habit remained. Every evening, you went for a walk. You wandered the quiet streets, allowing yourself that small, unsafe luxury—to recharge, to disconnect from the bustle of the day. There you were, standing at the edge of a crosswalk, letting a snow-white car pass. You took a step forward—and then there it was again. And this repeated itself several times, over the course of several blocks. An unpleasant premonition crept into your head. Suddenly, a car stopped next to you. The window rolled down, and a man of about thirty-five appeared in the doorway.

– Miss, let's get acquainted? Give me your phone number.

• I don't meet people.

But he doesn't calm down, persistently demanding your number.

• Well, let me buy your contact? How much?

• You don't have that much money.

– How can you be so sure? Give me a figure.

You grin and blurt out:

• One hundred thousand rubles.

The man takes out an impressive wad of bills from his bag and counts out about half, handing it to you.

• Here, there's definitely a hundred here. You can keep the rest.

"Are you serious?" You can't believe your eyes, but the bills look completely real.

• Absolutely. Now listen carefully, dictate the number.