What is in store for us?

<sup>A little later, as Thomas sipped a can of pop and thumbed through one of the annual Year In Photos magazines littered across our coffee table, we began to quiz him.

"So, Thomas, what's your last name?" I didn’t think to look on his identification card inside of the cab. Maybe there wasn’t one in the first place, and that’s why I hadn’t noticed it.

"Just Thomas." A slow sip from the soda, followed by a leisurely flip of the page. Just Thomas?

"How long have you lived in New York?"

"A couple of days, why?"

"Just curious."

"Look, there was a lot of money in your wallet, you know. I'd feel bad for taking it all, so you can hang onto everything but the fare. I won’t turn down a good tip, though," he said, almost defensively, rising off of the couch and heading towards the door.   Why the sudden about-face?

She laughed at that. I guess I couldn't blame her for thinking that it was funny, after all, it was pretty weird that she'd invited this guy inside in the first place, but then again, it was pretty weird what he'd done in the car, and on top of that, it was pretty weird that he'd accepted the offer and followed us in, and now, after everything, it was pretty weird that he didn’t want to tell us his name and even more bizarre that he was being modest about the money.  Who's modest about money, these days?

Of course, I didn’t believe that he’d only been in New York for just a couple of days, and I didn’t entirely trust that he wasn’t casing the house out so that he could break in at a later date and take all of our stuff down to the pawn shop to score some blow, or buy a night with a hooker, or make a payment on a deal gone bad with some local gang members. I had a pretty active imagination in regards to Thomas and his strange behavior, but overriding all other curiosity was my desire to understand what exactly had happened back in the car, and why he suddenly wasn't interested in our money.</sup>