"I said I drank it," Marc said distractedly.
"Then, you owe me twenty bucks, man. That bottle of genuine, hard-to-get French Elixir sells for fifty, sixty dollars." He held out his hand. "Pad my palm, friend."
"I certainly will not pad your palm," Marc said indignantly. "Do you know what that stuff's done to me?"
"Huh?" The little man paused reflectively. "How should I know what it done," he said. "They say all sorts of stuff could happen to you, according to how you're repressed." He regarded Marc interestedly. "What happened?"
"I've got X-ray eyes!" Marc said dramatically. "That's what happened."
The little man looked at him skeptically. "What's X-ray eyes?"
"When I look at people," Marc said, "I see right through their clothes. If I didn't have these glasses on everyone on this street would be stark naked."
The little man made a thin whistling sound, then began to chuckle. "Lord, man," he laughed, "you ain't got X-ray eyes, you just got a dirty mind!"
"What!" Marc said.