SCENE: Dimly lit bar; Miller Lite pool lamp is the main source of illumination. (Note, people are smoking, so it can’t be Burlington.) It is early and not yet crowded but starting to fill up.
I approach a friend of mine that I spot there and ask how he’s been lately. He tells me “not well” but that he’s working a half-way decent hustle that should at least get him out of the hole. When I ask him about it he is hesitant but eventually caves: “I figured out how to convert all these MP3s to ring tones and sell them to the Amish.”