Scheme
I found myself standing on a loading dock talking to an anonymous not-too-close friend who'd roped me into some kind of money-making scheme. There were two trucks, one larger than the other, and he was trying, as I directed, to back the smaller truck so that its contents could be easily and directly be moved into the large truck.
After what seemed like an overly long and unnecessarily frustrating ordeal, he finally parked the truck, and he began to unlock the doors to examine the contents.
"These workstations'll sell for at least $5000 a pop, I tell ya. Dunno what we can make on the rest of it, but I figure, after we recoup our expenses, once we sell those things, we'll have at least $20 grand to split between the two of us. Not a bad take right? Just you look."
The babbling continued as the truck doors finally rolled up.
Inside, instead of the computer equipment my friend had expected, were racks and racks of unworn but easily 3-decades-old clothes. Blue jeans, batik shirts, and other things were just a little too dated to seem stylish, all retro crazes taken into consideration, even.
"Maybe the clothes are worth something?" I offered.
My friend just sighed and stared at them for what seemed like a very long time.
Later that afternoon, while riding in the friend's car, as we passed over a freeway interchange overpass, a group of motorcycles drove down the freeway below us, making a loud growling sound as they drew near.
"Maybe that's what we should get involved in," my friend chimed in again. "Motorbikes. Had a cousin who'd fix 'em up, sell em' for four times what he paid. Quite a racket, I tell ya'. We could really clean up...."
After what seemed like an overly long and unnecessarily frustrating ordeal, he finally parked the truck, and he began to unlock the doors to examine the contents.
"These workstations'll sell for at least $5000 a pop, I tell ya. Dunno what we can make on the rest of it, but I figure, after we recoup our expenses, once we sell those things, we'll have at least $20 grand to split between the two of us. Not a bad take right? Just you look."
The babbling continued as the truck doors finally rolled up.
Inside, instead of the computer equipment my friend had expected, were racks and racks of unworn but easily 3-decades-old clothes. Blue jeans, batik shirts, and other things were just a little too dated to seem stylish, all retro crazes taken into consideration, even.
"Maybe the clothes are worth something?" I offered.
My friend just sighed and stared at them for what seemed like a very long time.
Later that afternoon, while riding in the friend's car, as we passed over a freeway interchange overpass, a group of motorcycles drove down the freeway below us, making a loud growling sound as they drew near.
"Maybe that's what we should get involved in," my friend chimed in again. "Motorbikes. Had a cousin who'd fix 'em up, sell em' for four times what he paid. Quite a racket, I tell ya'. We could really clean up...."