“I was going to spend it,” I said.
“How?”
“I had this fantasy coming back on the plane. I always have fantasies on planes. There’s this guy out in Vegas who calls himself Amarillo Slim and is supposed to be the world’s champion poker player. Well, in this fantasy I was going to take the money and fly out to Vegas and challenge him for the title.”
“That’s a good fantasy,” Myron Greene said.
“There was only one thing wrong. I couldn’t think of what to call myself. I needed something snappy and halfway sinister like Amarillo Slim.”
“How about Philosophical Phil?” Myron Greene said.
I told him I would have to think about it.