Because that actually sounded sensible to me, I began to worry. Now I could hear, in the near distance behind me, the lizard’s eyes blinking, each click like the snapping of a photo. Keaton’s cow was named Brown Eyes, but my lizard needed a less comforting moniker. Despair? Terror? Maybe just Angst would cover it.
“I paid a lot for him,” the metalhead went on. “So I gotta ask a good price for him.”
I had obviously missed something. “How much?”
“Two thousand.”
Chelsea turned away from the cage with a whole-body sigh that I understood well, since that was how I’d been turning away from my life for months. “Come on, that can’t be your best price. I’ll bet you’ve had him a long time.”
Was two thousand dollars too much for a capuchin monkey? It would certainly buy a lot of concert tickets
