207 | Uploaded on January, 24,
2012 | 1 month ago Things are rough all over.
There’s been a loaded automatic stuffed haphazardly in the glove compartment of your car ever since shit hit the fan, but where you’re going, you won’t need it. A pre-orchestrated DDOS attack at the ready might be more apt, but the newest dealer on the street doesn’t even have his website up yet—it’s all word-of-mouth, lately. Even emails aren’t safe anymore—but then, when have they been, really?
The last time sticks for Community started going around a whole slew of dealers got rounded up in the back alley behind the old, defunct Blockbuster, carted off to some government facility for pirate reformation.
Naturally, this makes it the safest place to meet up. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, or some shit. Hell, lightning’s the least of your worries these days.
The guy’s in a huge pair of sunglasses and a trench coat, the ones Benedict Cumberbatch wore that got popular real quick when Sherlock was being passed from person to person a couple months ago. It’s clearly seen better days, but the owner doesn’t seem to care.
You walk up as the lamppost behind him flickers once, twice, and adjust your own shades. Your palms are sweating. This shit never gets any easier. “You have watched 72 minutes of video today,” you whisper quickly under your breath, just in case this is some undercover cop, and get ready to run.
“Click here to enjoy unlimited use of Megavideo,” he says, letting out a short breath of relief. He must be as unbelievably nervous as you are. The thought doesn’t calm you down any. “So, I’ve got the latest Community. Where’s the dough?”
“No money.” You lick your lips, stick a hand in your pocket, and pull out a USB of your own. “Let’s swap.”
“Don’t fuck about,” he snarls. “Stick for cash, that’s how it works. No trades.”
“Come on,” you say, a bit desperately now. “This is all I’ve got. It’s a swap or nothing.”
He gives you a suspicious look. “What do you have, then?”
“Parks and Recreation, director’s cut, 720P.”
His eyes go all round. “How the fuck—that isn’t even supposed to be out yet!”
“I’ve got connections,” you say, and he grabs the USB from you like it’s the very air he needs—probably is—and thrusts his own at you. You smile. It’s almost too easy.
“Thanks,” you say, and back out of the dark alleyway as fast as you can.
It’s not until you’ve gotten around the corner of the dusty Blockbuster’s storefront that he realizes, with a roar of incandescent rage—“FUCKING GLEE?” But, of course, you’re long gone.
(via earlfoolish)
