cold hard cash

The twenty they gave me had writing on it. The bank gave it to me. I didn't notice until an hour later, about to buy coffee.  You've seen this sort of thing. A phone number or a website. This had both. Normally I pay it no mind and use the bill as I would any other. Not this time. I transferred the twenty to my right pocket, the pocket reserved, superstitiously, for savings or safekeeping or temporary non-use. Later on, in the late afternoon, I texted the number on the bill, not knowing if it was a landline or a cell. I texted, "Hey there." I got no answer. I got no answer for weeks. In fact, I said what the hell and forgot about the whole thing. Out of the blue, I get a "hey there." I don't respond to numbers I don't know. Who was this? I soon realized it was a reply to my original message of same. Part of the same thread. 

Can I help you?
I don't need any help. Who are you?
Who are you?
Au contraire. 
Exactly.
What do you want?
Same as you.
Are you male or female?
What's it to you?
Where are you?
Same.
What does that mean?
How 'bout you?
Same.
Want to meet? Someplace neutral.
Beige.
Why should we?
I'm afraid.
Why did you do that?
Do what?
Write your number on the twenty.
What are you talking about? I didn't leave no number.
Any.
What?
Never mind.
Meet?
You crazy?
Course not. And if I am, what's that make you?
Crazier.
Right.
Left.
Don't text me again.
Me neither.
Same.
Same.