2 February, Ajijic, Mexico. Waiting outside the Clinico Medico for my driver, Tomas, to arrive. I’ve named the dude with the blue bag, Bob.
Bob: Have you been honest with her about who you are? I mean, she doesn’t know or think that you’re a multi-millionaire or anything?
Lots of conversation from the other end. I’ll call it ‘Chatter’
Bob: OK. The thing of it is, they’re not any happier if you have lots of money.
Chatter
Uh huh. Ok. When does she arrive?
Chatter
So, you’ve got about 3 weeks and 3 days. How old are her kids?
Chatter
Well, that will certainly be a change of life pace.
Chatter
Well. Really? Now, remind me — you said that you do or you don’t know her name? Don’t get insulted but I can’t relate to what you’re doing.
Chatter
You’re starting to sound like a one-man epidemic.
Chatter
Right. Dina. She could be the angel of the world but there could be another side where she’s a bitch. Remember, she’s coming to meet you.
Chatter
Just remember — every once in a while, I get a feeling, a prescience. I’m telling you that whatever your business dealings are with what’s his name–I feel like Dina will not be good. She’ll fuck you over.
Chatter
Don’t sign anything. Protect yourself. Even if you own 500% of something, you have to take precautions. I’ve learned to listen to my feelings about things.
Although I was trying to be unobtrusive, I think Bob saw me typing madly into the Drafts app on my phone. He stood up and moved out of earshot before the conversation ended.
