"So the dude says to his nephew, he says, ‘Kid, this whole screwed up planet will soon be yours,' but the fucking kid says he don't want it. So the dude says, ‘Hey you little fucker, why don't you want the Earth?' and you know what the kid says—of course not, how the fuck would you know what the kid says?—the kid says that he don't want Planet Earth because, get this, he says he hates hand me downs. The fucker says he doesn't want to inherit the planet because he hates hand me downs. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. That is some funny fucking shit right there ain't it, Nick?"
"Nate."
"Huh?"
"Name's Nate."
"What I said: Nick."
"No, Nate. It rhymes with the number eight."
"Oh, Nate. Short for Nathan. Why didn't you tell me that?"
"I'm forgetful."
"Anyway, my nephew… fucking funny huh?"
"Hilarious."
"Doesn't want the world because he hates hand me downs. Hand me downs! What a fucking kid."
"Indeed."
"Can I buy you another martini?"
"Absolutely, Mr. Richards."
"Please Nick, call me Jonny."
"Sure thing, Jonny."
Bartender pours the dirty martini in front of me, sets it down and says, "Here you go, Nick," with an "I know your real name" wink tossed in my direction.
"So what did the dude tell him, Jonny?" I ask.
"Tell who?"
"Your nephew, when he told the dude that he didn't want a hand me down."
"He told him, ha ha, he told him, get this, he said, ‘Then good luck finding a wife.' Ha ha ha ha ha ha. The kid's six. He got no idea what the man's talking about but that's what he told him anyway. Ha ha ha ha ha ha."
"You're a funny guy, Jonny."
"You too, Nick. You too."