Andrei
“Right this way,” she says as we walk past all the round tables, and towards the kitchen.
“Tom, two men are here to see you,” the woman tells the owner and disappears somewhere.
A man in his early twenties comes over with his hand out. “Tom. Which one of you is Andrei?” The man asks.
“I am,” I tell him, shaking his hand.
“No, offense my friend, but I need to see some ID. I will not hand a kid over if I am not sure you are the person the boy asked me to call.” He announces and I barely hold back from grinning. This is the type of attitude everyone should have.
I grab my wallet and hand him my ID. Tom looks at it and reaches over to grab his phone off the bench. He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, the same piece of paper I wrote my number on and gave to Jonah
