It asks for everything first

A street vendor asks a hundred for a scarf worth ten. You laugh, offer twenty, and walk off feeling sharp. He's delighted. The craving runs the same play. It opens with the whole day. Take the rest of today off. Start fresh tomorrow. You refuse, feel reasonable, and counter with just one cigarette. The whole move takes about four seconds.

That big opening was never a real request. It was an anchor, set high so that one would feel like restraint. And one felt like your idea, because it came out of your own mouth. You didn't bargain it down. You got moved. The cigarette wrote the whole price list and let you feel clever for picking the cheap end.

Name the move the second you hear it. That's the opening bid. Then do what every sharp shopper does. Walk away. Stand up and count fifty steps from where you are. Down the hall, across the room, anywhere. Pray as you go. God, give me four clear seconds. Walking is the one counteroffer it can't beat.

You don't have to haggle better. You don't have to win the argument. There's no bid you're taking today. Say that once, then go do the next ordinary thing in front of you. Let the vendor shout prices at your back. You already left the market.