Raoul is his name. We’ve known each other since grade school, thick as thieves, shared everything. But after the lamp appeared on his doorstep — in a shoebox wrapped in brown paper — everything changed.
I don’t know what his wishes were exactly. Knowing Raoul he only used two and saved the third. He’s certainly richer, but I don’t know by how much. He looks different: better, but still Raoul. Maybe it’s just confidence. I won’t go into all the women falling all over him.
I’m going to kill him and take the lamp. I just hope his third wish wasn’t invulnerability.