The reason why most can’t comprehend how large a billion is, is because it’s not a significant number in daily life. I’ve never had a billion pieces of mail, or seen a billion page book. We can’t even see a billion stars in the sky because light is too slow, or partially because of light pollution depending on where you live. If that number ever becomes significant in your life, you’re probably dealing with some real shit. Even a billion dollars has its caveats. For instance, I’ve never met a billionaire without a target on his back.

  “You sent one billion fuckin’ dollars to those morons? Are you chronically enfeebled?” Jacob says to me before slamming the rest of his RedBull tonic.

  “No one’s passing out awards,” I sneer.

  “Listen, we’re adults now,” he says, crushing the can in his hand, “we can talk like adults.”

  “No adult talks like that.”

  “Whatever, I’m not the most, I guess, mentally deficient at this table,” he smiles.

  “Good one.” I raise a full glass of whisky to my lips, then set an empty one back down. The waitress fills it back up to the perfect level; About 3 fingertips for me at the moment, then she uses those small tongs to gently place a spherical ice cube into it. The service here is really good actually.

  “Thank you,” I say to her before she leaves to another table. I didn’t even see her face. She must be used to getting ignored.

  “Fine, yeah you’re right.” I lay flat on the table. Watching the waiter and waitresses shuffle around in perfect harmony. “God… What the hell am I going to do?”

  “Ask for a refund?” he chuckles before I sit back up and our eyes eventually meet and I’m not laughing with him. I really have a hard time hiding my intentions, he can feel my beggar's eyes. Billionaires have a sixth-sense for it, I know because I was one.

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  “Dude, No. Are you seriously asking me for money? Is that why you asked me out here—” tears welling up in his eyes, “I haven’t seen you for months, your friends, and—” he wipes his face into his Brunello shirt instead of his napkin. The napkins here probably aren't soft enough for him. He really cares about maintaining his skin, except he didn’t actually stop and think about the dirt that’s on his jacket. “We thought you were dead dude…”

  “I’m sorry...” I slump further into my palms, “Listen, man no. I’m not here for that. I’m going to pay for dinner, I promise. I just… probably would’ve asked you for a much bigger amount of money after it, but I’m being honest! You’re just the first person I wanted to see since I left.”

  "You...left? Where? We tried EVERYTHING to find you. E-V-E-R-Y-THING!"

  “I was kinda, ya know… well—” my eyes floated to a replica of the screaming man behind him. It was a pretty awful print for a place charging 100 dollars for a crawfish sandwich. “I’m hiding okay. And I just want to stay at your place predominantly over the money,” I grin. He doesn't change his expression of disappointment, breadcrumbs still stuck to his manicured beard.

  “Eloquence isn’t funny anymore, okay I get it sorry. Listen, I still have plenty of money, I just can’t go back to my house right now. I’m scared.”

  “Fuck that, we’re going to your place after this. I’ll pay for some extra security for ya’. At the end of the day, I just want to see you again. I’m not going to give you any money though, unless you can give me a good reason to. Gifts or favors that I can do, I don’t give money out though really.”

  “Hear me, okay. And…and really believe me on this okay. Alright. I mean it, I’m going to get a return on that billion man, and eventually, probably, make us trillions.”

  He falls back into his chair, then glares at me. He bites his lip and narrows his eyes on something in the distance.

  “Fine, we can go to my place,” At the very end of his sentence a waiter gently gives him the check. I swear, it's like they have telepathy here. We hadn’t even ordered our entrees yet. She couldn't have possibly guessed that.

  He hands me the bill, I slot my card in.

  “Thank you,” he looks at the waitress, “ring it up for 750.”

  “Yes sir.” She says.

  “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

  “My treat, I own the place.” he says as if it's banal.