And your Bro knows what anyone in the street knows: It ain’t about the exchange, its about ENDING the exchange.
Ask your Bro if he wants to stop any more .25’s just for fun.
Duck, cause he’s gonna swing on you.
Well, in all fairness, my “bro” (though I detest that term as of even lower character than “dude”), was at the time lying naked in bed, having answered a personal add in The Bachelor’s Beat newspaper (still more credible than the NYT), next to an equally nude woman who had neglected to inform him that she was married, and that her husband was both intensely jealous and extremely violent.
Who had, at the time, inopportunely returned to visit his wrath, not on his duplicitous wife, but on the helpless stranger seduced into her graces.
In any event, after his arrival, he held my friend at gunpoint, obliging him to make a phone call to his somewhat puzzled employer to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was of low character. And then the husband shot him, a lot.
He never explained how he was able to depart the place, nor get appropriate medical care in a timely manner, and I did not inquire, as his physical appearance in the dojo changing room was dramatic enough. He was though, courteous enough to provide some of the more entertaining details, of which I felt no inclination to question.